LIBRARY 

University  o      lalifornio 

IRVINE 


IOCKBY 


iniKTPEICKOI 

HBAHA    HAeAHAHJOBHMA   BYTOHA 
ABiopa    ^Sa 


HblO-IOPKT> 
.  Ann.ibTOii'L  ii  Ko. 

1887 


See  pages  2oj  and  317. 


AN    EPICUREAN  JOURNEY 


BY 

JOHN    BELL     B_OUTON 

AUTHOR  OF  "ROUND  THE  BLOCK" 


NEW  YORK 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 
1887 


COPYRIGHT,  1887, 
BY  D.   APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


TO 

THE   SYMPATHETIC   COMRADE 

"  IN  THESE  WANDERINGS, 

MY    WIFE. 


PREFACE. 


IF  any  reader  of  this  book  happens  to  be  carrying  about 
a  heavy  pack  of  fine  old  English  prejudices,  I  beg  that  he 
or  she  will  drop  it  before  entering  upon  the  eleven  chap- 
ters relating  to  Russia.  The  best  preparative  for  crossing 
the  Russian  frontier  is  to  throw  out  of  the  carriage-win- 
dow every  English  volume  with  which  the  tourist  has  be- 
guiled the  way  in  the  vain  hope  of  forming  correct  impres- 
sions of  the  country  ahead. 

Englishmen  can  not  be  trusted  to  treat  Russia  fairly. 
John  Bull  hates  Ivanovitch.  With  him  the  Russian  is  al- 
ways a  Tartar  or  a  Cossack.  Though  these  terms  are  not, 
in  fact,  opprobrious — since  the  Tartar  of  to-day  is  the 
model  business  man  of  Russia,  industrious,  faithful,  highly 
respected,  and  the  Cossack  preserves  none  of  his  ancient 
traits  but  an  excessive  fondness  for  horses,  a  martial  spirit, 
and  fervent  patriotism — they  are  slurring  words  in  the  Eng- 
lish sense. 

Americans  have  no  cause  of  quarrel  with  Russians. 
There  is  no  Turkey  on  this  continent  which  we  feel  bound 
to  save  from  the  jaws  of  the  Russian  bear  in  order  to  de- 
vour her  ourselves.  We  have  no  distant  province  with  200,- 
000,000  inhabitants  of  an  alien  race,  retained  by  a  tenure 
so  precarious  that  the  approach  of  a  rival  within  500  miles 
of  the  border  throws  us  into  a  panic.  We  have  no  India 


yi  PREFACE. 

for  Russia  to  invade.  Americans  are  in  a  position  to  do 
what  their  English  friends  have  never  done — see  and  re- 
port Russia  as  she  is. 

If  a  sense  of  gratitude  for  the  touching  sympathy  shown 
by  Russia  to  the  United  States  at  a  time  when  the  offen- 
sive interference  of  England  in  our  affairs  was  strongly 
feared,  shall  prepossess  the  American  traveler  in  favor  of 
that  great  country  and  people,  there  is  little  danger  that 
he  will  paint  them  in  colors  too  bright  for  truth.  For, 
with  his  best  efforts,  he  will  find  it  impossible  to  dismiss 
all  the  false  anti-Russian  ideas  with  which  English  litera- 
ture has  filled  him.  So  clinging  and  powerful  is  their  ef- 
fect, that  he  will  at  times  question  the  evidence  of  his  own 
senses,  and  be  tempted  to  discard  his  personal  experience 
as  exceptional  and  misleading. 

I  saw  no  drunken  priests  reeling  through  the  streets  of 
St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow,  and  not  a  single  case  of  in- 
toxication, even  among  the  mujiks.  Tea  is  the  national 
beverage  of  Russia.  Beggars  drew  but  lightly  upon  the 
little  pocketful  of  kopecks  which  I  had  set  apart  for  them. 
I  lost  nothing  by  theft,  and  was  not  defrauded,  to  my 
knowledge,  under  cover  of  overcharges  at  the  shops  or  the 
hotels.  Government  officers  are  considerate,  polite,  and 
do  not  seem  to  be  in  pursuit  of  bribes.  Russians  of  the 
lowest  class  are  not  more  unclean  in  appearance  than  the 
corresponding  grade  in  England.  The  "rough"  who  in- 
fests London  and  Liverpool  is  unknown  in  St.  Petersburg 
and  Moscow. 

If  external  indications  are  any  guide,  I  should  call  the 
Russians  the  most  religious  people  in  Europe.  They  build 
more  churches,  adorn  them  more  sumptuously,  attend  serv- 
ice oftener  and  in  greater  numbers,  repeat  more  prayers, 
and  perform  more  devotional  rites  every  day,  than  the  men 
and  women  of  any  other  land.  There  are  shrines  at  al- 


PREFACE. 


Vll 


most  every  street-corner,  and  every  house  has  its  Icon. 
The  Russian  type  of  face  is  serious.  Unfriendly  critics 
note  this  as  an  infallible  sign  of  national  despair,  the 
overt  manifestation  of  which  is  that  revolt  against  God 
and  Man  called  Nihilism.  But  it  is  only  the  character- 
istic gravity  of  semi-Orientals,  for  such  are  the  Russians. 
They  are  not  down-trodden  ;  and,  out  of  their  100,000,000 
free  souls,  there  is  a  proportion  of  Nihilists  no  larger, 
probably,  than  that  of  Socialists  in  Germany,  Communists 
in  France,  "  Dynamiters  "  in  London,  or  Anarchists  in 
Chicago.  The  Tsar  enjoys  the  confidence  and  love  of  the 
vast  majority  of  his  people.  Russia  may  safely  challenge 
the  rest  of  Europe  to  exhibit  a  parallel  to  the  comparative 
progress,  social  and  political,  which  she  has  made  in  the 
past  thirty  years.  When  the  Cossack  waters  his  horse  in 
the  Bosporus,  and  looks  down  into  India  from  his  out- 
post in  the  Soly*nan  Mountains,  jealous  powers  will  lament 
his  irresistible  advance.  But  Americans  can  not  share 
their  regrets,  believing  that  civilization  and  liberty  may  be 
borne  in  his  train  as  surely  as  in  that  of  any  other  aggres- 
sive member  of  the  great  European  family. 

The  record  of  "  An  Epicurean  Journey  "  is  not  a  place 
for  the  discussion  of  controverted  matters.  And  my  sole 
object  in  writing  this  preface  is  to  explain  to  the  possibly 
surprised  reader  why  I  can  not  echo  that  censure  of  Rus- 
sian institutions  and  aims  which  is  the  burden  of  so  many 
English  books  and  magazine  and  newspaper  articles.  But 
I  have  not  gone  out  of  the  way  to  praise  Russia,  or  to  do 
her  more  than  simple  justice.  That  a  far  greater  number 
of  Americans  annually  may  include  her  in  their  European 
rounds,  and  count  their  stay  in  Russia  as  among  the  most 
agreeable  episodes  of  their  lives,  is  the  sincere  wish  of 

J.  B.  B. 
*    N?w  YORK,  May,  iS&f. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

PACK 

By  train  de  luxe  from  Paris  to  Nice — The  Monte  Carlo  games      .       I 

CHAPTER    II. 
Oldpaint,  Cockspur,  and  North  Adams  at  the  Casino     .        .        .14 

CHAPTER   III. 
A  bad  night  in  Genoa  harbor 27 

CHAPTER   IV. 
Rome — Good-Friday  and  Easter    .......     39 

CHAPTER   V. 
Cutting  a  King — Margherita,  Queen  of  Hearts      .  .    50 

CHAPTER   VI. 
Naples — Sorrento— Capri — Paestum 57 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Fresh  diggings  at  Pompeii — Vesuvius  "  working  " — The  tell-tale 

seismograph — Solfatara    .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .68 

CHAPTER   VIII. 

Italian  beggars — A  neglected  grave — The  blue-gum  tree  and  ma- 
laria— Perugia — Etruscan  tombs 80 


X  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   IX. 

PACK 

Florence — Bologna — Como    .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .91 

CHAPTER   X. 

Peasant-girls — Nightingales — Isola  Bella — San  Carlo  Borromeo  in 

copper 104 

CHAPTER   XI. 

The  Simplon  Pass  in  June — Vispach  to  Zermatt — The  Matterhorn 

— A  fine  view  from  the  snows  of  Corner  Grat         .        .        .113 

CHAPTER   XII. 

Early  Alpine  flowers — A  wedding-feast — The  Rhone  Valley  and 

glacier — The  Furca  Pass 126 

CHAPTER   XIII. 
Avalanches  on  the  Jungfrau — The  guides  of  Grindelwald      .        .  136 

CHAPTER   XIV. 
Excelsior  and  the  maiden 145 

CHAPTER   XV. 
An  English  admirer  of  the  "  American  language  "...  158 

CHAPTER   XVI. 
Prehistoric  lake-dwellers — An  island  inn  and  its  memories    .        .  168 

CHAPTER    XVII. 
Carlsbad — Prague— Dresden  . J-77 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 
Berlin — Its  military  atmosphere 188 

CHAPTER   XIX. 
St.  Petersburg  in  July 203 


CONTENTS.  xi 

CHAPTER   XX. 

PAGE 

The  first  droschky-ride — Sunset  at  the   islands — Early  morning 

views  of  the  Nevskoi  Prospekt         .        .        .        .  .  215 

CHAPTER   XXI. 

Grand-Duke  Alexis — The  American  minister  and  his  chasseur 
— Russian  press  censorship — An  indignant  Briton — Undis- 
coverable  Nihilists  .......'..  233 

CHAPTER   XXII. 
The  holy  city  of  Russia 250 

CHAPTER   XXIII. 
The  Moscow  Foundling  Asylum 262 

CHAPTER   XXIV. 

Russian   epicurism   in   tea — The  Joltai-Tchai,    or   yellow-flower 

brand 275 

CHAPTER   XXV. 
A  hunt  for  malachite  and  lapis-lazuli  in  the  Gostinnoi  Dvor  .         .  282 

CHAPTER   XXVI. 

The  peacock-feather  mystery — Manayunk  and  the  old  masters — 
His  fruitless  search  for  the  Kremlin — The  Moscow  rag-fair — 
Petrovsky  Palace — Dining  in  the  grounds  ....  296 

CHAPTER   XXVII. 
A  comedy  of  passports — Mythical  police  espionage         .         .         .  313 

CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

Summer  weather  in  Russia — St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow  enough 
for  sight-seers — M.  Katkoff  and  his  "  Gazette  " — Tsar  and 
people — Republican  possibilities  of  the  Cossack  .  .  .  328 


xii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   XXIX. 

PACK 

Russian   Finland — Stockholm — The   largest   known   meteorite — 

The  Djurgarden       .........  342 

CHAPTER   XXX. 

By  rail  to  Christiania — Fare  on  the  road — Norway's  capital — The 

Viking-ship — An  inland  tour 353 

CHAPTER   XXXI.    . 

A  baby  kudsk — Tyri-Fiord — Honefos — Lake   Spirellen — Dinner 

at  a  Sanitarium 364 

CHAPTER   XXXII. 
Omnipotent   kroner — The  family  parlor  at  Odnses — Rands   and 

Christiania  Fiords 383 

CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

The    Gothenburg   whale — Three   kings   in   a   bunch — Northern 

out-door  life — A  study  of  windmills 394 

CHAPTER   XXXIV. 
Diamond-cutting  at  Amsterdam 406 

APPENDIX. 
Constitutional  government  for  Russia 419 


ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 


CHAPTER    I. 

BY    TRAIN    DE    LUXE    FROM    PARIS    TO    NICE  —  THE 
MONTE    CARLO    GAMES. 

BEFORE  leaving  America,  in  the  spring  of  1886, 
I  read  in  the  London  "  Times  "  a  slashing  attack  on 
the  celebrated  train  de  luxe  which  runs  twice  a 
week  from  Paris  to  Nice.  The  writer — an  English- 
man— had  missed  a  connection  which  he  should 
have  made  by  that  train.  So  he  relieved  his  mind 
— as  traveling  Britons  are  apt  to  do — by  pitching 
into  the  delinquent  through  the  columns  of  a  jour- 
nal still  supposed  to  be  powerful  for  warning  and 
chastisement.  I  observed  that  in  all  his  fury  he  did 
not  declare  that  the  train  lacked  comforts  or  even 
the  luxuries  claimed  in  its  high-sounding  name. 
Therefore  we  determined  to  try  it,  as  it  offered  a 
passage  from  Paris  to  Nice  in  nineteen  hours  ;  and 
we  did  not  regret  the  choice. 

The  whole   distance   is  675  miles.      Two  first- 


2  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

class  fares  paid  to  the  P.  L.  M.  ("  short "  for  Paris, 
Lyons  and  Mediterranean  Railway)  amount  to 
$53.68.  Add  to  this  $41.45  as  special  charges  for 
the  train  de  luxe — run  by  a  separate  company — 
and  you  have  $95.13  as  the  joint  first  outlay  for 
the  trip.  If  any  railway-riding  in  the  United 
States  is  more  than  half  as  expensive  as  this,  I 
have  yet  to  discover  it.  The  sleeping-cars  do  not 
seem  to  be  either  Wagner  or  Pullman  ;  they  more 
nearly  resemble  the  Mann  Boudoir.  They  are  not 
quite  as  large  as  those  in  America,  and  are  more 
solidly  built.  The  compartments  are  designed  for 
parties  of  two  or  four  each,  and  have  doors  which 
make  a  desired  privacy  for  the  inmates.  These 
little  rooms  occupy  the  whole  width  of  the  car, 
except  a  narrow  passage  for  common  use  running 
lengthwise.  The  beds  are  exceedingly  comfort- 
able, and  are  metamorphosed  into  handsome  sofas 
for  the  daytime.  A  restaurant-car  accompanies 
the  train ;  and  in  this  good  fare  may  be  had  a  la 
carte,  at  all  hours,  and  an  elaborate  table  d'hote 
twice  a  day.  The  attendants  are  alert  and  polite. 
Everybody  on  the  train  de  luxe  seems  to  feel  a 
personal  responsibility  in  keeping  up  its  reputa- 
tion and  reconciling  passengers  to  their  large  dis- 
bursement of  money.  It  was  my  good  fortune — 
as  an  American — to  enlist  at  once  the  kindest 
sympathy  of  the  Paris  agent  of  the  sleeping-car 


BY  TRAIN  DE  LUXE  FROM  PARIS  TO  NICE.         3 

company,  as  also  of  the  conductor.  By  the  court, 
esy  of  those  officials  we  were  allowed  to  tenant  a 
room  for  four,  though  paying  only  for  two  persons. 
This  gave  us  plenty  of  space,  and  perhaps  accounts 
in  part  for  the  general  satisfaction  I  experienced. 

Though  the  rate  of  speed  averaged  thirty-five 
miles  an  hour,  there  was  little  vibratory  motion  and 
no  jarring  whenever  the  train  stopped  or  started 
again.  If  the  P.  L.  M.  does  not  use  the  Westing- 
house  air-brake  and  Miller  platform,  it  has  equiv- 
lent  contrivances  of  its  own  just  as  good. 

A  better  night's  rest  could  not  be  asked  for 
than  the  one  I  enjoyed  till  the  train  de  luxe  pulled 
up  in  the  Lyons  station  at  6.25  A.  M.  on  time.  The 
Paris  we  had  left  at  9.25  Wednesday  night,  April 
I4th,  was  anything  but  gay.  A  cold  rain  swept 
the  deserted  streets  and  deepened  the  gloom 
everywhere  observable  on  the  faces  of  hotel-land- 
lords, shopkeepers,  and  cabmen.  Trade  had  been 
stagnant  there  all  winter,  and  the  spring  season — 
with  its  promises  of  better  times — was  deplorably 
backward.  But  I  must  not  omit  to  mention  that 
it  was  further  along  than  in  America,  or  even 
England.  The  trees  which  line  the  Champs- 
Elysees  were  in  full  leaf,  and  the  Bois  de  Boulogne 
was  thick  with  shade.  But  a  keen  north  wind 
came  down  upon  Paris  while  we  were  there,  and 
we  were  glad  to  quit  it. 


4  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

Next  morning  as  we  entered  Lyons  I  raised  the 
curtain  at  the  foot  of  my  little  bed,  and  lo !  a  sight 
of  enchantment.  An  unclouded  sun  lighted  up  the 
great  manufacturing  city  and  its  environs  and  glo- 
rified everything.  The  general  impression  was  that 
of  an  entrance  to  Italy.  The  roofs  of  all  the  houses 
wear  the  peculiar  earthen  tiles  which  one  sees  in 
Italian  towns.  The  church-steeples  begin  to  re- 
semble campaniles.  Olive-trees  are  possible  in  the 
soft  climate  of  this  part  of  Southern  France.  The 
natives,  who  swarm  about  the  station  at  an  early 
hour  and  gaze  wonderingly  at  the  train  de  luxe,  are 
swarthy  of  face  and  profuse  of  gesture  —  more 
Italian  than  French  in  outward  appearance.  But 
our  greatest  delight  was  in  the  increasing  warmth 
of  the  outer  air,  for  the  car  had  required  heating 
on  that  cold  night  of  a  northern  spring.  A  dainty 
breakfast — served  on  the  snowiest  of  linen — at  a 
table  from  which  we  could  study  the  sunny  land- 
scape as  we  whirled  along,  completed  the  prelude 
of  a  lovely  day.  Our  next  stop  was  at  Marseilles, 
where  we  changed  locomotives.  There  the  Medi- 
terranean came  into  view,  but  a  cloud  over  the  sun 
prevented  that  full  revelation  of  its  beauties  which 
we  saw  later  on.  What  a  glamour  genius  throws 
over  common  things !  The  Chateau  d'lf  is  nothing 
but  a  square-built  tower,  standing  on  a  little  island 
in  the  harbor  of  Marseilles.  It  is  neither  grand  nor 


BY  TRAIN  DE  LUXE  FROM  PARIS  TO  NICE.      5 

picturesque.  I  should  not  have  glanced  at  it  a 
second  time  if  Dumas  had  not  forever  linked  it 
in  my  mind  with  the  imprisonment  and  daring 
escape  of  his  Count  of  Monte  Cristo.  There  may 
be  much  to  see  and  admire  in  Marseilles,  but  I 
could  only  think  of  Edmond  Dantes  and  his  won- 
derful adventures. 

Nice,  into  the  station  of  which  we  punctually 
rolled  amid  a  crowd  of  staring  spectators,  was 
then  out  of  season.  As  a  winter  resort  much  be- 
loved by  consumptives  and  tired-out  people,  it 
deserves  its  fame.  Orange  and  lemon  trees,  aloes, 
palms,  oleanders,  acacias,  and  many  other  tropical 
plants,  thrive  there  in  the  months  that  are  coldest 
elsewhere.  Nice  faces  the  Mediterranean  toward 
the  south,  and  is  sheltered  from  every  rude  wind 
by  the  towering  Maritime  Alps.  The  fashionable 
season  proper  had  already  terminated  with  the 
opening  of  Parliament  —  which  is  the  invariable 
signal  for  the  resumption  of  social  gayeties  in  Lon- 
don. The  richest  patrons  of  Nice,  as  of  all  this 
coast,  are  Englishmen.  And  as  they  leave,  the 
great  hotels  begin  to  close  in  the  very  month  when 
Nature  is  most  actively  renewing  herself  and  look- 
ing her  best.  Even  Nice,  with  all  her  tropical  pro- 
clivities, is  capable  of  being  chilly  upon  occasion. 
Snow  had  visited  the  place  within  a  month,  and 
we  found  a  fire  comfortable  in  our  chamber.  It 


6  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

seemed  strange  to  be  toasting  one's  feet  at  the 
hearth,  and  looking  out  of  window  upon  gardens 
golden  with  oranges  and  bristling  with  gigantic 
palms,  or  thick-set  with  monstrous  specimens  of 
that  vegetable  devil-fish  known  as  the  agave  or 
century-plant.  The  arms  or  tentacles  of  these  are 
twelve  or  fifteen  feet  long  and  two  or  three  feet 
thick  at  the  butt.  Fill  in  this  rough  outline  with 
lilacs,  daisies,  geraniums,  heliotropes,  and  tea-roses, 
and  the  reader  may  realize  what  was  seen  from 
every  hotel  window  and  balcony  on  the  Riviera 
di  ponente. 

We  took  the  Corniche  road  by  private  carriage 
from  Nice  to  Mentone,  about  nineteen  miles.  It  is 
a  marvelous  piece  of  engineering  skill,  gaining  a 
height  of  1,500  feet  by  a  bold  succession  of  zigzags. 
As  its  name  implies,  this  road  is  a  mere  cornice. 
It  is  cut  into  the  sides  of  mountains,  and  in  places 
overhangs  frightful  precipices.  During  the  first 
hour  of  our  journey  I  frequently  jumped  out  of 
the  carriage  to  pick  the  strange  and  exquisite  wild 
flowers  which  grew  along  the  road-side.  But  we 
soon  reached  the  altitude  where  these  attractions 
ceased,  and  we  were  called  upon  to  admire 
the  beetling  rocks  which  towered  far  above  us. 
This  rugged  scenery  was  in  the  ascendant  most 
of  the  time.  It  makes  the  Corniche  route  grand 


* 
BY  TRAIN  DE  LUXE  FROM  PARIS  TO  NICE.     7 

in  its  savage  loneliness,  but  beautiful  I  can  not 
call  it.  But  beauty  flashed  upon  us  in  the  distance 
whenever  a  turn  of  the  road  brought  the  Mediter- 
ranean into  view.  Under  a  brilliant  sun  that  sea 
looks  like  a  limitless  stretch  of  changeable  silk, 
full  of  graceful  wrinkles.  Near  the  shore  its  pre- 
dominant color  is  light  blue.  Toward  the  horizon, 
this  deepens  into  a  darker  shade.  Purples  and 
greens  may  also  be  descried  in  larger  masses  and 
clearer  tints  than  one  observes  in  the  broad  At- 
lantic in  any  of  its  moods. 

We  lunched  at  a  little  hamlet — Turbi — perched 
high  up  in  the  mountains.  The  landlord  of  the 
Grand  Hotel  at  Nice  had  advised  me  to  try  ham 
and  eggs,  as  the  least  objectionable  dish  to  be  ob- 
tained off-hand  at  the  Turbi  inn.  The  landlady 
accepted  the  order  in  the  most  accommodating 
spirit,  and  after  a  little  delay  brought  in  some 
slices  of  raw  ham  and  boiled  eggs.  I  then  de- 
scribed to  her  as  well  as  I  knew  how  the  American 
process  of  cooking  ham  and  eggs.  Her  face  light- 
ed up  with  intelligence,  and  she  retired  to  try 
again.  Fifteen  minutes  later  she  came  back  with 
the  eggs  stirred  up  in  a  mess  at  the  bottom  of  a 
skillet  and  the  raw  ham  reposing  beneath  them, 
where  it  had  been  slightly  warmed  in  the  new 
operation.  But  the  vin  du  pays  was  honest  and 
palatable.  Bread  and  cheese  are  always  good  to 


V 

8  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

a  hungry  man.  We  stayed  our  appetites,  if  we 
did  not  lunch  exactly  to  our  liking.  Erom  Turbi 
to  Mentone  the  road  is  mostly  down-hill,  and  the 
scenery  a  repetition  of  what  we  had  seen  in  the 
first  half  of  the  Corniche.  As  for  Mentone  itself, 
it  is  Nice  over  again,  with  a  slight  difference  of 
location,  but  much  smaller. 

I  have  seen  the  notorious  games  at  Monte  Carlo 
(five  or  six  miles  from  Mentone),  strictly  as  an  out- 
sider. There  is  no  lovelier  spot  under  the  whole 
heavens.  Nature  and  the  art  paid  for  out  of  the 
enormous  gains  of  the  greatest  gambling-hell  on 
earth  have  done  everything  to  make  a  paradise  of 
Monte  Carlo.  The  Casino  is  a  palace  in  size  and 
splendor.  The  surrounding  gardens  are  full  of 
the  choicest  flowers  and  musical  with  birds  and 
waterfalls.  Mountains  exclude  every  biting  wind. 
Three  hundred  feet  below  the  promontory  lies  the 
matchless  Mediterranean.  All  around  are  beau- 
tiful villas  and  large  and  elegant  hotels  and  restau- 
rants worthy  of  Paris.  The  season  at  Monte  Carlo 
lasts  the  year  round,  and  is  always  prosperous. 
Admission  to  the  salle  de  jeu  is  not  to  be  had  for 
the  asking.  No  one  under  twenty-one  years  of  age 
can  enter.  As  no  resident — but  only  the  stranger 
— is  allowed  access  to  the  Casino,  the  local  popula- 
tion is  not  hurt  by  the  game.  I  was  obliged  to 


THE  MONTE  CARLO   GAMES.  9 

present  my  visiting-card  at  the  bureau  and  write 
my  name  on  the  back  of  a  ticket.  Then,  after 
surrendering  my  umbrella,  the  great  doors  of  the 
den  were  thrown  open  to  me.  I  had  read  of  so 
many  suicides  committed  at  this  place  that  I  quite 
expected,  when  I  entered,  to  interrupt  some  ruined 
gambler  in  the  act  of  blowing  out  his  silly  brains. 
Instead  of  confronting  such  a  tragedy,  I  found  my- 
self in  the  presence  of  a  large  company  of  quiet 
people,  sitting  around  long  tables,  watching  a  re- 
volving wheel  in  the  center,  and  listening  to  the 
click  of  the  little  ivory  ball  as  it  slackened  and  fell 
into  a  numbered  compartment  of  the  wheel  and 
determined  the  gain  or  loss  of  the  players.  There 
are  four  of  these  roulette-tables,  and  two  others  in 
an  adjoining  room,  at  which  only  trente  et  quarante 
is  played,  the  latter  a  game  of  cards.  No  game 
lasts  over  a  minute,  so  that  the  suspense  is  not  long 
and  agonizing.  The  London  illustrated  papers 
have  lately  represented  the  gamesters  of  both  sexes 
as  uniformly  hideous.  Their  countenances  were 
made  infernal  with  avarice.  As  for  the  croupiers, 
who  rake  in  or  pay  out  the  money,  they  were 
depicted  as  fiends  incarnate. 

Speaking  of  suicides,  I  learned  that,  only  two 
days  before  my  visit,  a  man  who  had  lost  all  at 
one  of  the  tables  suddenly  whipped  out  a  pistol 
and  shot  himself.  He  was  quietly  removed,  and 


10  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

the  roulette  and  trente  et  quarante  went  on  without 
interruption.  A  lady,  who  had  been  watching  the 
play  on  one  occasion,  told  me  that  she  saw  a  per- 
son seize  from  the  table  a  little  pile  of  money 
which  had  been  won  by  another.  He  appealed 
for  redress  to  the  superintendent  of  the  Casino. 
The  latter  did  not  stop  to  inquire  into  the  justice 
of  the  claim,  but  immediately  paid  over  to  the 
second  player  the  sum  which  he  said  had  been 
thus  publicly  stolen  from  him.  This  little  incident 
proves  the  constant  anxiety  of  the  "administra- 
tion "  to  avoid  disagreeable  scenes  and  scandals. 
But  the  suicides  can  not  be  stopped,  as  men,  act- 
ing under  the  sudden  impulse  of  despair,  will  kill 
themselves  before  the  "  bank "  can  solace  them 
with  the  donations  it  is  always  ready  to  make  for 
the  relief  of  ruined  gamesters.  The  French  Gov- 
ernment could,  if  it  would,  in  the  capacity  of  pro- 
tector and  powerful  neighbor,  suppress  the  mon- 
strous evil  of  Monte  Carlo.  But  Prince  Charles 
manages  to  keep  in  favor  at  Paris,  not  merely  by 
his  personal  residence  there,  but  by  a  full-blown 
legation,  which  he  maintains  at  the  French  capital 
for  diplomatic  purposes,  just  like  a  first-class  sov- 
ereign. 

Describing  people  as  I  find  them,  I  must  say 
that  the  male  players  seemed  an  average  lot  of 
human  beings.  The  females  were  more  mixed 


THE  MONTE  CARLO  GAMES.  u 

and  questionable.  The  croupiers  were  evidently 
wearied  and  bored,  but  on  the  whole  good-looking 
and  certainly  amiable.  Most  of  the  players  were 
of  frugal  mind.  The  usual  stake  was  a  five-franc 
piece ;  napoleons  were  scarce.  One  reckless  man 
who  put  up  ten  of  them  at  a  time,  turned  pale 
when  he  lost  them  all,  and  hauled  out  of  the  game. 
No  one  lost  much  at  any  table  under  my  observa- 
tion, and  in  not  a  single  case  did  a  player  gain  the 
possible  maximum  of  thirty-five  times  the  amount 
of  his  stake.  To  a  looker-on  the  spectacle  was 
monotonous  in  the  highest  degree.  Perhaps  it  is 
livelier  toward  midnight  than  in  the  afternoon 
when  I  saw  it.  But,  whether  slow  or  swift,  it  is 
none  the  less  to  be  condemned  as  demoralizing 
in  its  far-reaching  influences,  productive  of  thefts 
and  embezzlements,  as  well  as  the  undoubted  cause 
of  many  suicides.  How  any  person  can  turn  his 
back  on  all  these  beauties  of  nature  and  art,  and 
give  himself  up  to  such  a  sordid  and  destructive 
vice,  is  a  puzzle  to  every  well-regulated  mind. 

After  seeing  the  games  at  Monte  Carlo,  I  vis- 
ited the  palace  of  Prince  Charles  at  Monaco. 
Careless  writers  use  the  two  names  interchange- 
ably. Be  it  understood,  then,  that  Monte  Carlo  is 
part  of  the  diminutive  principality  of  Monaco. 
The  less  is  included  in  the  greater.  The  prince's 
palace  is  situated  at  the  other  end  of  his  posses- 


12  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

sions,  about  a  mile  from  the  Casino.  He  never 
occupies  it.  He  lives  in  luxurious  retirement  at 
Paris  on  the  large  revenues  derived  from  a  lease 
of  the  gambling  monopoly.  But  he  is  cut  off 
from  many  of  the  pleasures  of  this  life,  as  he  is 
stone-blind.  His  ample  income  enables  him  to 
remit  all  taxes  to  his  few  thousand  subjects,  and 
to  keep  a  really  beautiful  palace  on  show  for  all 
comers.  Not  to  be  wanting  in  any  of  the  outward 
signs  of  sovereignty,  he  maintains  an  "army"  of 
fine  fellows — sixty-five  strong — and  has  a  park  of 
highly  burnished  artillery  pointing  seaward.  Hun- 
dreds of  cannon-balls  are  piled  up  symmetrically  in 
his  palace  yard.  At  the  great  gates  of  the  edifice, 
as  1  approached  it,  stood  two  good-looking  sol- 
diers. One  rested  gracefully  on  his  shining  mus- 
ket, and  the  other  played  with  a  tame  crow  which 
hopped  about  in  the  grass.  Seeing  me,  he  recov- 
ered his  erect  position  and  dignity,  and  returned 
my  courteous  salute.  I  asked  permission  to  enter 
the  palace.  With  a  gesture  he  referred  me  to  a 
gorgeous  personage,  looking  like  three  major-gen- 
erals rolled  into  one,  who  suddenly  appeared  in  a 
doorway.  I  took  him  for  the  commander-in-chief ; 
but  he  was  only  the  concierge.  With  a  profound 
bow  he  requested  my  visiting-card,  which  I  gave 
him.  Then,  after  registering  my  name,  I  was 
turned  over  to  another  less  splendid  but  still  im- 


THE  MONTE  CARLO  GAMES.  13 

posing  official,  who  showed  me  through  the  long 
galleries  and  suites  of  rooms.  They  are  full  of 
costly  pictures  and  statues,  and  magnificently  up. 
holstered.  But  they  have  the  cold,  cheerless  at- 
mosphere and  stuffy  smell  of  all  uninhabited  houses 
however  grand.  I  was  glad  to  escape  from  the 
wearisome  round  into  the  open  air. 

The  blind  prince  not  only  exempts  his  subjects 
from  taxes,  but  he  provides  for  several  good 
schools,  and  is  a  liberal  supporter  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church.  A  fine  cathedral  is  now  rising  at 
Monaco. 

Public  morals  are  so  deeply  concerned  in  the 
suppression  of  the  Monte  Carlo  games  that  I  do 
not  yet  feel  like  quitting  them.  I  will  take  a  fresh 
start  in  Chapter  II,  and  isolate  for  description  a 
few  types  of  character  among  the  many  that  may 
be  seen  at  the  Casino.  We  will  watch  them  at 
work  (for  it  is  no  "  play  "  to  them  save  in  name), 
amid  seductions  difficult  to  be  withstood  by  any 
will  that  does  not  rest  on  principles. 

I  now  beg  leave  to  introduce  the  reader  to  Old- 
paint,  Cockspur,  and  North  Adams. 


CHAPTER   II. 

OLDPAINT,   COCKSPUR,   AND    NORTH   ADAMS  AT    THE 

CASINO. 

OLDPAINT  was  a  fellow-traveler  of  ours  from 
Mentone  to  Monte  Carlo.  Not  knowing  her  real 
name,  I  call  her  Oldpaint  for  sufficient  reasons.  She 
was  wrinkled  with  age,  and  excessively  painted. 
Turner,  in  his  moments  of  divinest  frenzy,  would 
not  have  laid  on  the  red  more  boldly.  It  blazed 
through  her  veil.  Her  cheeks  were  hollow,  her 
eyes  sunken,  with  deep  black  marks  scored  beneath 
them  which  she  had  vainly  attempted  to  whiten. 
The  whole  expression  of  her  face  was  desperate.  I 
observed  in  her  hand  a  ticket  stamped  Monte 
Carlo.  Then  I  guessed  she  was  a  veteran  devotee 
of  roulette.  And  I  was  right.  For,  when  I  en- 
tered the  salle  de  jcu  a  few  hours  later,  she  was 
already  there,  comfortably  seated  at  the  croupier 's 
elbow,  and  evidently  at  home.  It  was  by  closely 
watching  her  play  that  I  first  came  to  understand 
the  horrible  fascination  of  the  game  for  its  vota- 
ries. 


AT  THE  CASINO.  15 

Cockspur  is  another  name  I  was  obliged  to  in- 
vent for  an  Englishman — also  a  confirmed  gambler 
—whom  we  first  encountered  lunching  in  the  Res- 
taurant de  Paris  at  Monte  Carlo.  This  establish- 
ment is  worthy  of  its  imposing  title.  There  is  no 
better  on  the  Boulevards.  It  is  famous  for  game  in 
season,  and  good  wines  all  the  year  round.  When 
we  entered  this  paradise  of  gourmets,  and  dropped 
quietly  into  two  chairs  at  a  table  not  far  from  the 
door,  we  did  not  instantly  attract  attention.  No 
waiter  appearing  for  a  moment,  we  fell  to  studying 
some  brilliant  frescoes  on  the  ceiling,  and  noting 
the  sumptuousness  of  the  furniture,  the  fineness  of 
the  linen,  the  exquisite  fragility  of  the  cut-glass. 
Still  no  garden.  I  turned  my  head  impatiently,  and 
then  saw  what  was  the  matter.  At  the  third  table 
behind  us  sat  a  tall  young  man,  with  light,  curly 
,  hair  and  mustaches,  and  by  his  side  a  showy 
woman,  who  looked  like  a  queen  of  burlesque  in 
walking-suit.  There  was  an  indescribable  some- 
thing in  the  frizzling  of  her  hair,  the  look  of  her 
eyes,  her  stereotyped  smile,  which  betrayed  the 
professional  winner  of  applause  from  crowded  par- 
quettes.  The  man  was  evidently  under  her  domin- 
ion, and  was  testifying  to  his  complete  surrender 
by  ordering  on  the  costliest  meats  and  wines. 
They  did  not  seem  desirous  to  excite  public  curi- 
osity, for  they  spoke  low  and  behaved  decorously 


1 6  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

enough.  But  the  lunch  was  prodigal,  even  for  that 
place  of  extravagances.  To  serve  it  had  required 
two  waiters,  who  now,  in  a  moment  of  pause,  hov- 
ered about  "  milord's  "  table,  wondering  what  he 
would  condescend  to  order  next.  It  was  plain  that 
they  were  all  expecting  liberal  pour  boires  from  this 
spendthrift  of  a  patron.  Still  other  waiters  had 
gathered  in  the  vicinity,  as  if  to  pick  up  some  stray 
crumbs  of  his  bounty.  All  eyes  being  focused  on 
this  couple,  we  had  apparently  escaped  observa- 
tion. I  gave  notice  of  my  presence  by  a  slight 
cough,  and,  to  the  lasting  credit  of  the  Restaurant 
de  Paris,  am  happy  to  say  that  it  provoked  a 
prompt  response.  A  smart  waiter  dutifully  de- 
tached himself  from  the  little  group  and  bent  be- 
fore me  with  an  apologetic  expression  of  face.  I 
hastily  consulted  the  carte  du  jour,  and  gave  my 
order. 

The  lunch  was  quickly  served,  and  proved 
to  be  excellent.  The  sweetbreads,  omelette  souffle, 
and  some  Pontet  Canet  of  1872,  were  particularly 
interesting.  But  I  did  not  forget  to  look  over  my 
shoulder  occasionally  to  see  how  the  Englishman 
and  his  companion  were  getting  on.  They  soon 
finished  their  repast ;  the  bill,  which  might  have 
been  a  washer-woman's  for  length,  was  delivered 
and  paid  without  verification.  He  only  looked  at 
the  total,  and  produced  from  a  great  roll  of  French 


AT  THE  CASINO.  \j 

bank-notes  one  which  he  placed  upon  the  salver 
extended  to  him.  Then  he  opened  a  rouleau  of 
gold,  and  gave  a  bright-yellow  piece  to  each  of  the 
two  waiters  who  stood  near  him.  As  the  salver 
was  borne  past  me  to  the  caisse,  I  noticed  that  the 
bill  was  of  the  denomination  of  100  francs.  The 
Englishman  did  not  stop  for  his  change  (if  any), 
but  hurried  off  with  his  stylish  enslaver;  so  I  in- 
ferred that  loo  francs  was  not  far  from  the  price 
of  their  lunch.  Remarking  this  extraordinary  lav- 
ishness,  I  said  to  myself,  "  That  man  has  been  win- 
ning a  pot  of  money  over  at  the  Casino." 

Now  it  happened  that  he  had  placed  his  new 
Derby  hat  in  the  embrasure  of  the  window,  just 
behind  my  chair.  As  one  of  the  waiters  reached 
over  for  it,  I  inadvertently  glanced  into  the  hat, 
and  there  chanced  to  see  the  illegible  name  of 
somebody,  "  maker,  Cockspur  St.,  London."  So 
this  extravagant  Englishman  became  "  Cockspur  " 
to  me  henceforth  and  forever.  We  shall  soon  see 
more  of  him. 

From  our  luncheon  at  the  Restaurant  de  Paris 
we  went  direct  to  the  Casino,  and  there,  while  I 
was  hunting  up  my  card  for  the  inspection  of  the 
chief  inquisitor,  I  observed  an  innocent-looking 
youth  standing  near  me.  He  wore  the  dog-collar, 
the  pointed  shoes,  the  tight-fitting,  single-breasted 
coat  of  the  London  swell,  and  he  gripped  his  little 


1 8  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

silver-headed  cane  in  the  middle,  like  a  shillalah. 
But  I  know  ray  dear  fellow-countrymen  under  all 
their  disguises.  A  single  glance  at  his  face  con- 
vinced me  that  he  was  a  good  young  American 
on  his  first  trip.  His  dissipation  was  obviously 
confined  to  clothes.  He  had  just  handed  in  his 
card,  and  an  official  personage  was  making  an 
entry  of  the  name  in  a  book. 

"  Quel  pays,  monsieur?"  he  asked,  courteously. 

The  good  young  man  turned  to  me  and  said, 
with  surprise  :  "  Is  there  anything  to  pay  here  ?  I 
thought  it  was  a  free  show." 

"  There  is  no  charge.  He  only  wants  to  know 
where  you  are  from,  as  we  would  say  in  America," 
I  answered. 

His  ingenuous  cheeks  colored.  "  I  can  speak 
French  a  little  myself,"  said  he ;  "  but  somehow  I 
don't  catch  it  when  they  speak  it  at  me." 

I  assured  him  kindly  that  we  all  had  the  same 
trouble,  more  or  less. 

"  Qucl pays,  monsieur  ?  "  repeated  the  ever-amia- 
ble greffier  of  the  administration. 

"  Beg  pardon,"  said  the  good  young  man,  flush- 
ing again.  "  I'm  from  North  Adams,  Massachu- 
setts." 

"  Nort-a-darm  —  Massa-Massa  —  nimporte — Angle- 
terre"  murmured  the  greffier,  and  down  it  went. 

The   benighted  Frenchman   had   supposed  the 


AT  THE  CASINO.  19 

name  of  the  glorious  old  commonwealth  to  be  that 
of  some  obscure  shire  in  England.  It  is  the  most 
flagrant  piece  of  geographical  distortion  on  record. 

The  good  young  man  was  so  flustered  by  all 
this  that  he  did  not  wait  to  exchange  cards  with 
me,  but  hurried  off  to  the  gambling-hall.  So  I 
was  compelled  to  label  him  in  my  mind  "  North 
Adams."  He  was  number  three  among  the 
strangers  in  whose  actions  that  day  I  took  a 
deep  interest.  Without  their  presence,  indeed, 
the  game  of  roulette  would  have  been  tiresome  to 
me  as  a  mere  spectator. 

If  Oldpaint  had  not  been  one  of  the  large  com- 
pany of  gamblers  in  that  magnificent  apartment,  I 
should  have  been  much  disappointed ;  for  I  felt  a 
profound  curiosity  to  see  how  her  withered  feat- 
ures would  stand  the  wear  and  tear  of  the  game. 
There  she  was,  as  if  by  agreement,  and  I  at  once 
stationed  myself  behind  her  chair.  Her  seat  was 
well  chosen  for  a  general  survey  of  the  table.  She 
was  just  opposite  the  wheel,  and  the  croupier 
who  set  it  whirling  at  intervals  was  her  nearest 
neighbor. 

Oldpaint  still  wore  her  veil  closely  drawn  over 
her  face.  But  I  could  see  the  varying  expression 
of  her-  features  through  the  gauze,  as  I  looked 
down  at  her  while  she  played.  At  one  time  her 
dull  eyes  would  light  up  with  a  gleam  of  avari- 


20  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

cious  joy.  Again  they  would  become  fishy.  The 
pinched  mouth  would  contract  slightly  at  the  cor- 
ners, bringing  out  new  wrinkles  on  her  rouged 
cheeks,  or  her  thin,  vermilion-tinted  lips  would 
curve  downward,  just  as  she  happened  to  win  or 
lose — more  commonly  the  latter.  Her  gloved 
hands,  which  terminated  in  skeleton  wrists,  trem- 
bled equally  as  she  put  up  her  stakes  or  piled  her 
occasional  winnings  in  little  round  towers  before 
her. 

By  her  side  stood  a  small  open  bag,  through 
the  steel  jaws  of  which  I  saw  silver  five-franc 
pieces  and  little  rolls  of  gold,  like  packages  of  loz- 
enges, with  one  coin  visible  at  the  end  as  a  sample. 
Below  was  a  thin  foundation  of  French  bank-notes. 
Oldpaint  was  one  of  those  who  play  on  a  sys- 
tem. She  had  before  her  a  large  pasteboard  card 
divided  into  many  squares,  and  a  pencil  with  a 
sharp  point.  Whenever  the  wheel  slowed  up  so 
as  to  permit  the  ivory  ball  to  drop  into  a  com- 
partment and  decide  the  game,  she  threw  a  light- 
ning glance  at  the  winning  number  and  color,  and 
pricked  certain  entries  on  her  card.  By  the  time 
the  human  parrot  at  her  side  called  out,  "  Faitcs 
vos  jeux"  she  was  ready  with  a  fresh  stake,  gen- 
erally a  small  one.  In  no  instance  did  she  go  over 
ten  francs. 

As  for  Oldpaint's   system,  it  was  too  compli- 


AT  THE  CASINO.  21 

cated  for  me  to  understand.  But  the  results  were 
plain  enough :  rouge  was  generally  turning  up 
when  she  had  bet  on  noir.  Her  money,  as  a  rule, 
stood  on  pair,  when  it  should  have  been  on  impair. 
When  other  players  were  doubling  their  stakes  on 
passe,  Oldpaint  was  almost  sure  to  have  five  francs 
on  manque.  Occasionally  she  would  haul  in  some- 
thing substantial.  Once  she  bagged  eight  times 
the  amount  of  her  stake.  It  had  been  put  at  the 
intersecting  lines  of  four  numbers,  one  of  which 
had  won.  As  the  croupier  scooped  them  in  for 
her  with  his  little  rake,  I  could  see  the  enamel  on 
her  cheeks  crack  open  in  new  places,  she  smiled  so 
broadly ;  and  then,  on  the  strength  of  this  bit  of 
luck,  the  poor  old  woman  would  go  on  losing 
again.  It  made  me  sick  to  see  her  throwing  away 
good  money  on  a  system  which  ought  to  have 
been  turned  round  end  for  end.  A  gambler,  if  he 
had  been  in  my  place,  would  have  made  a  good 
thing  just  watching  Oldpaint  and  playing  against 
her  every  time. 

My  attention  was  now  called  off  by  the  sudden 
appearance  of  Cockspur  on  the  scene.  As  there 
was  no  spare  seat  for  him  at  the  table,  he  stood  up 
in  the  second  row  of  players  and  spectators.  His 
face  was  flushed,  and  he  reached  forward  between 
two  other  persons  to  rest  his  hand  on  the  back  of 
a  chair,  as  if  to  steady  himself.  I  wondered  if  the 


22  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

man  would  be  foolish  enough  to  play  in  that  half- 
drunken  state.  It  was  a  great  pity  that  such  a 
free-hearted  fellow  should  be  a  victim  of  the  dread- 
ful vice  of  gambling,  and  perhaps  be  reduced  to 
beggary  by  his  rashness  before  night. 

Cockspur  took  a  napoleon  from  a  side-pocket 
which  audibly  jingled  with  coins.  Waiting  till 
the  wheel  started,  he  pitched  the  gold-piece  care- 
lessly on  the  table.  It  rolled  on  its  edge,  making 
a  circle  on  the  cloth  and  finally  laid  down  at  the 
junction  of  two  lines  which  intersect  six  numbers. 
" Rien  ne  va  plus"  droned  the  human  parrot,  when 
the  speed  of  the  wheel  was  much  reduced,  and  a 
moment  later  the  ball  dropped  with  a  little  thud. 
" Vingt-cinq  rouge"  said  the  same  monotonous  voice. 
I  looked  at  the  square  on  the  table,  and  lo !  it  was 
one  of  the  six  numbers  covered  by  Cockspur's 
napoleon.  He  had  won  five  times  the  amount  of 
his  stake.  One  of  the  servitors  whose  duty  it  is  to 
assist  in  placing  money  on  the  table  or  handing 
over  winnings,  passed  the  six  napoleons  up  to 
Cockspur,  who  slipped  them  into  the  yawning  side- 
pocket.  His  face  expressed  no  pleasure.  Some 
men,  under  the  belief  that  they  had  struck  a  run  of 
luck,  would,  in  Cockspur's  place,  have  risked  a 
sum  larger  than  twenty  francs  on  the  next  round. 
In  his  condition  I  expected  him  to  do  something 
rash.  But  he  only  produced  another  napoleon 


AT  THE  CASINO.  23 

from  his  store  and  let  it  fall.  After  wobbling 
about  a  moment  it  came  to  rest  on  the  division 
marked  manque.  Again  a  whirl  of  the  wheel  and 
a  fall  of  the  ball,  and  the  croupier  proclaimed 
"  Quinze  noir"  and  Cockspur  doubled  his  stake, 
because  15  is  manque,  or  less  than  18.  All  num- 
bers over  1 8  up  to  36  are  passe ;  and  all  the 
players  who  had  put  their  money  on  the  part  of 
the  table  so  labeled,  were  losers  to  the  bank. 

The  same  good  fortune  pursued  Cockspur  as 
he  pitched  his  gold  pieces  at  random  into  the 
section  Rouge  or  Noir,  Pair  or  Impair.  He  won  six 
or  seven  times  running  while  I  looked  on.  And 
then  he  and  all  the  players  together  fell  prey  to 
the  bank's  single  advantage.  Besides  the  thirty- 
six  numbers,  there  is  a  zero  (o),  and,  when  that 
catches  the  ball,  all  the  stakes  on  the  board  are 
raked  in  by  the  bank,  with  the  solitary  exception 
that  any  person  who  has  staked  on  the  zero 
(thereby  backing  the  bank)  gains  thirty-five  times 
the  amount  of  his  wager.  But,  in  the  case  under 
notice,  the  zero  symbol  was  uncovered.  As  the 
bank  plays  nine  or  ten  hours  every  day  in  the  year, 
and  must,  according  to  the  law  of  probabilities, 
win  once  in  every  thirty-seven  games  (requiring 
about  a  minute  each)  on  the  average,  one  can 
understand  how  the  administration  makes  all  its 
money  without  the  necessity  of  cheating.  No 


24  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

player  is  allowed  to  stake  more  than  six  thousand 
francs  at  a  time,  and  the  enormous  capital  of  the 
bank  enables  it  to  continue  the  game  against  any 
conceivably  probable  run  of  bad  luck. 

Cockspur  continued  to  drop  his  money,  always 
the  one  prudent  napoleon,  on  the  table,  and  letting 
it  take  the  chances.  Sometimes  he  lost,  but  more 
often  he  won.  It  would  have  been  amusing,  but 
for  the  sadness  of  their  long  and  hungry  faces,  to 
see  Oldpaint  and  some  others  who  were  losing 
steadily  on  systems,  look  up  at  Cockspur  who  was 
discarding  all  methods  and  trusting  blindly  to  luck, 
and  showing  so  much  judgment  even  in  his  folly, 
taking  only  small  risks  at  a  time.  As  I  gazed 
across  the  table  at  him,  I  foresaw  with  prophetic 
eye  the  time,  and  not  far  off,  when  his  luck  would 
turn,  and  he  would  then  become  frenzied  and  reck- 
less ;  perhaps  put  up  his  last  napoleon,  and  lose  it, 
and  then  the  siren  with  the  frizzled  hair  would 
drop  her  penniless  lover,  and  the  comedy  of  real 
life  would  tragically  close  with  a  pistol-shot  and  a 
newspaper  paragraph. 

I  was  dwelling  on  this  dismal  ending  of  the 
handsome  fellow  opposite,  when  a  new  cause  of 
anxiety  threw  him  quite  out  of  my  mind. 

There  was  North  Adams,  fluttering  around  the 
table  like  a  moth  about  a  candle.  He  had  been 
spending  his  time  watching  the  other  groups  of 


AT  THE  CASINO.  25 

players,  I  suppose,  and  had  now  come  to  see  what 
our  set  was  doing.  Like  most  persons  who  look 
on  at  the  game  for  the  first  time,  he  watched  only 
those  who  won.  The  equal  numbers  who  lost  at 
every  fall  of  the  ball  seemed  to  escape  his  observa- 
tion. Every  time  a  player  raked  in  a  goodly  pile, 
North  Adams's  eyes  would  bulge  out  with  aston- 
ishment. He  would  thrust  his  hand  into  a  pocket 
and  partly  draw  it  out,  and  then  thrust  it  back 
again.  A  storm  of  conflicting  feelings  swept  over 
his  smooth,  beardless  face.  One  could  easily  read 
avarice,  covetousness,  the  love  of  illicit  gain,  strug- 
gling with  the  generous  sentiments  of  youth  and 
the  good  principles  of  New  England  training.  I 
tried  to  catch  his  eye,  but  in  vain.  He  was  totally 
absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  all  that  money 
so  easily  won.  Once  he  elbowed  his  way  through 
the  double  row  of  outsiders,  and  I  thought  he  was 
about  to  place  money  on  the  table.  But  just  then 
the  bank  again  scored  zero  (o),  and  all  those  yellow 
and  white  pieces  down  there  disappeared  in  an 
instant!  This  was  a  warning  for  North  Adams. 
He  drew  back,  and  I  saw  a  look  as  of  shrewd  re- 
flection pass  across  his  face.  He  wiped  his  damp 
brow,  and  resolutely  buttoned  up  the  pocket  into 
which  his  hand  had  so  often  dived  without  bring- 
ing up  anything. 

That  one  decisive  hit  for  the  bank  seemed  to 


26  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

banish  the  doubts  that  had  evidently  troubled 
North  Adams.  He  did  not  look  like  a  person  of 
severe  moral  principles  ;  he  may  have  had  no  nice 
scruples  upon  the  subject  of  gaming  ;  but  when 
his  mind,  such  as  it  was,  still  bearing  the  impress 
of  his  early  schooling  and  severe  discipline,  real- 
ized that  the  bank  had  a  "  sure  thing  "  in  the  long 
run,  then  he  hesitated  to  jump  at  the  gilded  bait. 
Some  grains  of  hard  common  sense  inherited  from 
level-headed  ancestors,  along  with  the  high  cheek- 
bones of  his  Scotch  face,  came  to  his  rescue  in  the 
nick  of  time.  Blood  will  tell,  even  when  thinned 
down  in  the  veins  of  a  harmless  dude  ;  and  while 
I  looked  at  him,  still  questioning  his  firmness 
against  temptation,  he  deliberately  turned  his  back 
upon  the  game  and  walked  straight  out  of  the 
room. 

I  soon  followed  him  into  the  open  air,  better 
pleased  with  that  spectacle  of  conflict  and  victory 
than  with  all  else  I  had  seen  in  the  gambling-palace 
of  Monte  Carlo. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  BAD  NIGHT  IN   GENOA  HARBOR. 

A  MAN  not  in  a  hurry  to  reach  Southern  Italy 
before  hot  weather,  might  find  happiness  and  con- 
tentment in  three  or  four  days  of  Genoa.  The 
old  city  has  churches  and  palaces  worth  visiting. 
Some  of  the  drives  in  the  environs  are  charming, 
and  I  should  not  soon  tire  of  views  of  the  Medi- 
terranean to  be  had  from  the  Acqua  Sola.  But, 
when  the  tourist  is  burning  up  with  a  desire  to 
pass  early  May  in  Rome,  Naples,  and  Sorrento, 
and  hopes  to  see  the  glorious  Greek  ruins  of  Pses- 
tum  without  fear  of  a  sunstroke,  he  willingly  leaves 
over  Genoa  to  the  chance  of  another  visit.  My 
real  object  in  breaking  the  journey  at  that  point 
was  to  take  boat  thence  to  Naples  direct,  and  avoid 
the  rail  route  to  Rome,  which  I  had  traversed  in 
1883. 

I  had  gathered  from  books  the  impression  that, 
for  unalloyed  pleasure,  nothing  in  the  line  of  travel 
was  quite  equal  to  the  steamship  trip  from  Genoa 


28  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

along  the  coast,  touching  at  Leghorn,  Civita  Vec- 
chia  (port  of  Rome),  passing  in  full  view  of  Elba 
and  Corsica,  and  entering  the  glorious  Neapolitan 
bay  by  daylight.  The  view  of  Naples  from  the 
sea,  with  the  long  curve  of  coast,  the  white  houses 
of  the  city  piled  high  in  terraces,  smoking  Vesu- 
vius in  the  background,  and  the  islands  of  Ischia 
and  Capri  deep  blue  in  the  offing,  like  sapphires  in 
a  setting  of  lapis-lazuli,  is  the  identical  view  to 
which  the  much-quoted  proverb  refers.  We  had 
looked  forward  to  this  trip  with  the  greatest  pleas- 
ure, and  now  I  must  tell  the  reader  how  the  cup 
was  dashed  to  the  ground  even  before  it  had  been 
raised  to  our  lips. 

We  thought  we  were  in  great  luck  when  we 
found,  on  arriving  at  Genoa,  that  a  steamship 
would  start  for  Naples,  and  take  in  all  the  wonder- 
ful sights  along  the  coast,  the  following  night  at 
9  P.  M.  precisely.  Even  before  I  had  made  a  tour 
of  the  city,  I  went  to  the  office  of  the  steamship 
company  to  secure  the  best  cabin  left.  I  greatly 
feared  that  all  the  accommodations  had  been 
snapped  up  by  other  more  fortunate  travelers. 
When  I  reached  the  office  I  was  quite  alarmed  to 
see  crowds  of  people  standing  before  the  heavy 
wire  network  which  separated  them  from  the 
cashier  and  clerks.  These  people  were  all  thrust- 
ing their  money  through  small  open  wickets,  and 


A  BAD  NIGHT  IN  GENOA  HARBOR. 


29 


receiving  in  exchange  slips  of  paper  that  looked 
like  tickets.  I  annexed  myself  to  one  of  these 
anxious  crowds,  and  after  a  delay  of  ten  minutes, 
and  a  little  firm  but  still  polite  working  of  my 
elbows  into  the  ribs  of  others  all  about  me,  found 
myself  face  to  face  with  a  nervous  and  overworked 
young  man. 

I  told  him  in  French  what  I  wanted,  and  asked 
him  the  price  of  two  first-class  tickets.  Like  most 
intelligent  Italians,  he  understood  a  little  French. 
His  face  expressed  great  surprise,  as  if  my  applica- 
tion for  a  first-class  cabin  on  a  Naples  steamer  was 
something  unheard  of.  He  begged  me  to  excuse 
him  a  moment,  and  he  would  find  out  the  price.  I 
thought  this  very  strange,  when  I  considered  the 
great  demand  that  must  exist  for  the  best  berths. 
I  was  curious  for  an  explanation,  but  forbore  to 
seek  it  when  I  looked  at  that  poor  young  man's 
tired  face.  He  sat  down,  with  one  hand  partly  cov- 
ering* his  forehead,  in  which  I  could  see  the  dis- 
tended veins,  while  with  the  other  hand  he  ciphered 
on  a  blotting-pad,  meanwhile  looking  hard  at  some 
columns  of  printed  figures  on  a  placard  before 
him.  He  was  immersed  in  deep  calculations  for 
five  minutes.  One  would  have  thought  he  was 
working  out  an  eclipse  of  the  sun. 

The  pack  of  Italians  behind  me  was  increasing, 
and  there  were  murmurs  of  dissatisfaction  on  ac- 


3o  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

count  of  their  delay,  while  the  young  man  was  per- 
forming prodigies  in  arithmetic.  I  was  beginning 
to  feel  very  uncomfortable  under  the  pressure  in 
the  rear,  when  he  suddenly  footed  up  his  elaborate 
computations,  and  told  me  what  two  first-class 
tickets  from  Genoa  to  Naples — table-fare  included, 
without  wine — would  cost.  I  was  surprised  to 
learn  that  the  fares  were  much  higher  than  those 
by  rail  all  the  way ;  but,  per  contra,  there  was  the 
escape  from  a  dreary  land-ride,  and,  better  yet,  the 
sea-view  of  Naples,  cheap  even  at  the  price  of 
death.  So  I  paid  over  the  money  and  received  my 
tickets,  with  the  accompanying  injunction  that  I 
must  be  on  board  at  8  P.  M.,  one  hour  before  sail- 
ing, without  fail.  The  exhausted  young  man  also 
gave  me  directions  about  reaching  the  steamship, 
which  was  then  anchored  in  the  harbor.  I  thanked 
him,  and  forced  myself  through  the  ever-growing 
throng  of  Italians  to  the  open  air.  I  deemed  my- 
self truly  fortunate  to  have  secured  that  prize  of 
a  cabin,  and  reveled  in  the  fondest  anticipations. 
The  next  night,  a  few  minutes  before  eight 
o'clock,  we  descended  from  a  carriage  to  the  quay, 
where  small  boats  could  be  obtained  to  put  us  on 
board.  The  driver  blew  a  shrill  whistle,  to  which 
several  boats  near  by  responded.  The  one  that 
reached  us  first,  and  thereby  became  entitled  to  our 
patronage,  looked  like  the  relic  of  an  Arctic  whaler. 


A  BAD  NIGHT  IN  GENOA  HARBOR.          31 

Its  sides  were  worm-eaten  ;  its  bottom  was  covered 
with  water.  It  exhaled  a  rank  smell  of  fish.  The 
rower  was  as  unpleasant  to  the  eye  as  the  craft  he 
slowly  propelled  with  two  oars  that  looked  as  if 
they  would  snap  off  in  the  middle  with  the  least 
strain.  My  first  intention  was  to  reject  the  serv- 
ices of  this'  boat  and  man ;  but  when  I  glanced  at 
the  others  heading  for  me,  I  saw  that,  if  possible, 
they  were  worse.  So  I  accepted  the  situation,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  we,  with  our  trunks,  were  on 
board,  keeping  our  feet  out  of  the  water  by  rest- 
ing them  on  the  spare  seat  before  us.  Then  he 
struck  out  for  the  steamship,  and  he  had  not  made 
ten  strokes  of  the  oars  before  I  had  forgotten  all 
about  the  disagreeable  sight  and  smell  of  the  boat. 
For  in  that  part  of  the  harbor,  in  that  tide,  we 
were  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  the  old  sewage 
system  of  Genoa.  In  this  respect  the  city  is  prob- 
ably better  off  than  any  other  along  the  Italian 
coast ;  but,  during  that  little  boat-ride,  I  ceased  to 
wonder  why  the  cholera,  which  thrives  on  filth 
and  stenches,  is  so  fond  of  Mediterranean  towns. 
If  I  had  not  known  the  ride  to  be  a  short  one,  and 
that  we  should  weigh  anchor  in  an  hour  and  be 
off  for  the  open  sea,  I  should  have  felt  like  aban- 
doning the  expedition  at  that  early  stage  of  it. 

When  we  reached  the  goal  at  last,  after  mak- 
ing  the  circuit  of    several   other  sea-going   craft, 


32  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

steam  and  sail,  anchored  close  together,  we  found 
a  large,  handsome  boat.  She  was  freshly  painted, 
and  I  shall  always  remember  how  nice  the  paint 
smelt  in  contrast  with  the  unpleasant  odors  all 
around  her.  We  could  see  men  on  deck  hoisting  in 
the  cargo  from  a  lighter  alongside,  and  hear  their 
cheery  cries^as  they  tugged  at  the  ropes.  They 
were  so  very  busy  that  not  one  of  them  could  lend 
a  hand  to  us.  But  our  boatman,  with  all  his  dirt, 
was  not  lazy.  He  lost  no  time  in  putting  our  two 
trunks  aboard,  shouldering  them  with  ease,  and 
bounding  up  the  flight  of  wooden  steps  which 
hung  precariously  from  the  deck  to  the  water's 
edge.  We  followed  quickly,  and  I  inquired  at 
once  for  il  capitano.  One  of  the  sailors  pointed  me 
to  a  wiry  little  man,  who  was  sharply  watching 
the  hands  as  they  swung  the  barrels  and  boxes  on 
board  and  lowered  them  into  the  hold.  I  stepped 
up  to  him  and  handed  him  my  ticket.  He  looked 
it  over  twice  carefully,  scratched  his  head  in  evi- 
dent perplexity,  and  murmured  words  in  Italian 
unintelligible  to  me.  I  tried  him  in  French,  but  he 
only  shook  his  head.  His  astonishment  at  some- 
thing was  even  greater  than  that  of  the  young  man 
in  the  company's  office  the  day  before.  Finally,  in 
despair,  he  called  to  a  subordinate  of  some  rank 
and  put  us  in  his  charge,  significantly  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders  at  the  same  time.  This  man's 


A  BAD  NIGHT  IN  GENOA  HARBOR. 


33 


manner  expressed  surprise,  mingled  with  amuse- 
ment, I  should  say.  He  also  could  not  speak 
French,  but  he  made  signs  that  we  were  to  follow 
him.  We  did  so,  and,  descending  the  companion- 
way,  found  ourselves  in  a  small  but  neat  saloon, 
off  which  six  or  eight  cabins  opened  on  either  side. 
The  one  assigned  to  us  was  well  ^situated  and 
commodious  enough,  but  the  two  beds  in  it  were 
not  made  up,  and  it  had  a  musty  smell,  as  if  it  had 
not  been  aired  through  the  port-hole  for  some 
years.  But  this  stuffiness  was  more  tolerable  than 
the  stench  which  would  soon  have  permeated  the 
cabin  if  the  dead-light  had  been  open.  Of  wash- 
ing arrangements  there  were  none  in  the  cabin, 
but  we  were  shown  a  place  outside  which  would 
have  supplied  that  deficiency,  if  there  had  been 
any  jug  for  water,  or  stopper  at  the  bottom  of  the 
basin  to  keep  the  water  from  running  out,  or 
towel  or  soap-dish.  These  discoveries  were  damp- 
ers, but  we  were  inclined  to  be  philosophical. 
The  worst,  however,  was  yet  to  be  learned,  and, 
thanks  to  the  scrappy  French  of  the  captain's 
cook,  whom  we  interviewed  upon  the  subject  of  a 
little  hot  supper,  we  soon  found  it  out. 

It  appears  that  this  boat,  and  others  of  the 
same  line,  no  longer  made  a  business  of  carrying 
first-class  passengers ;  the  railways  do  all  that  now. 
Once  in  a  while  an  officer  of  the  Italian  army  or 


34 


ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 


navy  presents  himself  with  a  government  pass,  and 
some  provision  is  made  for  him,  but  yet  he  must 
rough  it.  Just  before  nine  o'clock  a  gentleman 
with  a  long,  trailing  sword  and  spurs,  appeared 
with  a  pass,  and  took  a  cabin  next  to  ours.  He 
was  the  only  first  or  even  second  class  passenger 
aboard  besides  ourselves.  There  were  a  few  per- 
sons in  the  steerage,  who  furnished  their  own  food. 
Being  out  of  the  habit  of  taking  saloon-passen- 
gers, the  officers  of  the  boat  had  made  no  suitable 
preparations  for  them.  They  were  just  as  much 
amazed  to  see  us  there  as  the  company's  agent  had 
been  to  receive  my  order  for  a  cabin.  To  the 
former  we  also  represented  a  certain  amount  of 
extra  trouble  and  care. 

"  But  how  about  the  rush  for  tickets  ?  "  I  asked 
the  cook. 

"  Oh,  that  was  only  for  freight-receipts,"  he  re- 
plied. 

All  this  intelligence,  and  much  more  of  the 
kind,  especially  relating  to  the  lean  larder,  and 
the  cook's  inability  to  get  a  hot  supper  for  us, 
with  some  uncertainty  as  to  breakfast  next  morn- 
ing, were  vexatious  and  even  distressing.  Still, 
we  knew  we  should  not  starve  on  board ;  and, 
after  all,  the  privations,  whatever  they  might  be, 
would  last  only  thirty-six  hours,  the  time  required 
for  the  whole  trip,  including  a  stoppage  at  Leg- 


A  BAD   NIGHT  IN  GENOA  HARBOR.          35 

horn,  so  we  were  told.  Besides,  it  was  almost  nine 
o'clock  now,  and  too  late  to  go  ashore.  So  we  de- 
cided to  put  the  best  face  on  our  disappointment. 
Meanwhile,  the  stewardess  had  come  aboard,  and 
she  had  fished  out  of  the  lockers  enough  sheets, 
blankets,  and  pillows  to  equip  our  two  berths.  A 
pair  of  towels  were  also  discovered  after  much 
search  and  hung  up  on  nails  above  the  mockery 
of  a  wash-stand.  Toward  ten  o'clock  matters  were 
becoming  slightly  more  endurable.  But  the  boat 
had  not  started.  The  men  were  still  hoisting  in 
the  cargo,  as  we  knew  from  their  droning  songs 
and  the  creaking  of  the  windlass.  Eleven  o'clock 
came  and  went,  and  yet  no  sign  of  departure. 

So  we  went  to  bed,  hoping  that  we  might  soon 
fall  asleep,  and  wake  in  the  morning  to  find  the 
boat  far  on  her  way  across  the  Gulf  of  Genoa. 
But  sleep  was  impossible  while  those  intermin- 
able choruses  rang  in  our  ears.  Twelve,  one, 
two,  three,  four  o'clock ! — and  our  craft  was  still 
at  her  anchorage  and  the  operation  of  loading 
progressing  as  noisily  as  ever.  As  dawn  stole 
through  the  dead-light,  I  arose  and  opened  it  to 
get  a  whiff  of  fresh  air  as  a  change  from  the 
stifling  atmosphere  of  the  cabin,  which  had  only 
a  lattice-work  opening  on  the  saloon  for  ventila- 
tion. But  a  mephitic  odor  arose  from  the  water, 
and  compelled  me  to  close  the  bull's-eye,  Dress- 


36  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

ing  myself,  I  went  on  deck,  an.d  there  saw  that  the 
work  of  loading  had  in  fact  only  just  begun.  A 
second  lighter,  with  a  towering  pile  of  merchan- 
dise, had  been  brought  alongside  during  the  night, 
and  the  transfer  of  her  cargo  to  the  hold  I  knew 
would  be  the  work  of  many  hours.  I  resolved  to 
hail  a  boat,  go  ashore  with  my  trunks,  trust  to  get- 
ting my  passage-money  refunded  by  the  company, 
and  leave  for  Rome  via  Pisa  on  the  ten-o'clock 
train. 

We  carried  this  resolve  into  instant  execution. 
The  officers,  who  were  then  on  deck,  beamed  with 
delight  as  they  saw  us  preparing  to  leave.  One 
hailed  a  boat  for  us.  Another  brought  our  two 
trunks  in  his  strong  arms  from  the  room  where 
they  had  been  stored  overnight.  The  cook  bus- 
tled around  ecstatically  and  made  us  a  cup  of  good 
coffee,  with  sugar  and  milk.  I  never  saw  a  man 
so  pleased ;  for  our  presence  on  the  boat  had  been 
a  cause  of  the  greatest  solicitude  to  him,  in  the 
impoverished  state  of  his  supplies.  The  steward- 
ess grinned  with  unspeakable  satisfaction.  Even 
the  captain  found  time  to  quit  his  post  at  the 
hatchway  to  see  us  over  the  ship's  side  in  safety. 
None  of  us  said  a  word,  but  our  hearts  swelled 
with  thankfulness  at  the  thought  that  we  were 
parting  with  each  other  forever. 

The  battello  which  put  us  ashore  seemed  to  be 


A  BAD  NIGHT  IN  GENOA  HARBOR.          37 

a  twin-sister  of  the  one  that  put  us  aboard.  But 
we  reached  the  quay  in  safety,  after  running  a 
gantlet  of  foul  smells.  Then  another  singular 
incident  befell  us.  Custom-house  officers  were  on 
the  watch  at  our  landing-place.  They  might  have 
seen  us  when  \\e  left  the  steamship  out  there. 
They  must  have  known  that  we  had  passed  the 
night  on  board,  for  they  asked  questions  of  the 
boatman,  which  he  answered,  all  doubtless  to  that 
effect.  And  yet  our  baggage  was  taken  to  the 
custom-house,  not  far  off,  for  an  inspection.  The 
head-man  spoke  a  little  French,  and  I  explained  to 
him  the  facts  of  the  case.  But  this  did  not  pre- 
vent him  from  performing  the  solemn  ceremony 
of  examining  the  contents  of  the  trunks,  the  valise, 
the  bundle  of  shawls,  and  the  hand-bag,  just  as  if 
we  had  arrived  from  the  coast  of  Africa.  I  thought, 
from  the  expression  on  the  faces  of  the  inspectors, 
that  a  couple  of  francs  would  have  saved  me  this 
detention.  But  I  was  really  amused  at  the  farce, 
and  allowed  it  to  proceed  unchecked. 

Returning  to  the  Hotel  de  Genes,  greatly  to 
the  surprise  of  the  worthy  head-porter,  we  stopped 
there  long  enough  to  take  a  solid  breakfast.  A 
visit  soon  after  made  to  the  office  of  the  steam- 
ship company  was  successful  in  getting  back  the 
passage-money,  with  apologies  for  the  mishaps 
which  had  occurred.  I  could  not  quite  make  out 


38  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

whether  the  fault  was  with  the  young  man  who 
sold  me  the  tickets,  or  with  somebody  on  board 
ship  who  did  not  heed  the  wishes  of  his  employers 
on  shore,  and  I  did  not  care  to  settle  the  question 
so  long  as  I  was  not  obliged  to  be  imprisoned  on 
that  craft  during  the  uncertain  period  of  her  voy- 
age from  Genoa  to  Naples. 

I  wonder  if  she  has  started  yet  ?  Perhaps  she 
is  still  taking  in  cargo.  I  only  know  that,  for 
weeks  afterward,  every  time  I  saw  a  Naples  news- 
paper, I  looked  among  the  marine  arrivals  for  the 
name  of  that  boat,  and  did  not  find  it. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

ROME — GOOD-FRIDAY    AND    EASTER. 

I  CAN  imagine  no  drearier  ride  than  that  by 
rail  from  Pisa  to  Rome.  The  road  skirts  the  sea 
most  of  the  way.  For  many  miles  it  traverses  the 
Roman  Campagna.  The  dreaded  miasma  which 
rises  at  night  from  this  vast  plain  has  left  it  tenant- 
less,  except  by  the  station-masters  and  hands,  and 
the  herdsmen  needed  to  watch  over  the  droves  of 
horses  and  oxen  and  flocks  of  sheep  which  browse 
on  the  abundant  herbage.  These  herdsmen  look 
wild  and  brigandish  in  their  peaked  hats  and 
slashed  jackets.  Whether  they  take  quinine  freely, 
or  are  naturally  proof  against  malaria,  I  know  not. 
But  it  is  a  fact  that  most  of  them — as  also  of  the 
railway  servants  —  do  not  have  the  haggard  and 
palsied  look  I  had  expected  to  note  among  them. 
Even  they,  however,  have  fears  of  the  conse- 
quences of  their  exposure ;  for  I  noticed  at  every 
station,  where  there  were  several  buildings,  large 
young  groves  of  the  eucalyptus  or  blue-gum  tree. 


40  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

Its  balsamic  odor  was  perceptible  from  the  car- 
windows.  The  Italian  Government  encourages 
the  setting  out  of  this  tree  as  a  preventive  of 
malaria. 

The  success  of  the  experiment  is  still  a  matter 
of  dispute.  In  point  of  fact,  the  shepherds  and 
others  who  live  in  miserable  huts,  hundreds  of 
feet  from  the  railway-track  and  have  no  such 
protection,  seem  as  strong  and  hearty  as  those 
who  dwell  continually  in  the  shade  of  the  blue- 
gum  tree. 

We  attended  the  special  services  at  St.  Peter's 
on  Good-Friday.  Driving  through  the  streets  we 
found  the  banks  and  shops  of  all  kinds  open  as 
usual.  The  only  indication  of  the  solemnity  of 
the  day  was  the  increased  attendance  at  all  the 
churches.  And  this  may  be,  in  part,  explained 
by  the  extraordinary  musical  attractions.  At  St. 
Peter's  many  thousand  persons  must  have  been 
present  between  4.30  and  6.30  P.  M.,  when  the 
Tenebra  and  Miserere  were  chanted  or  sung  by  a 
great  concourse  of  priests  and  a  select  choir.  The 
music  was  impressive,  but  its  proper  effects  were 
lost  on  all  hearers  who  could  not  squeeze  into  the 
little  side-chapel  where  it  was  performed.  Ev- 
ery effort  had  been  made  to  render  St.  Peter's 
gloomy,  but  without  avail.  The  brilliant  mosaics 
and  frescoes  were  all  shrouded.  The  eighty-nine 


ROME— GOOD-FRIDAY  AND  EASTER.        41 

lamps  which  burn  about  the  crypt  of  St.  Peter's 
tomb  were  extinguished.  But  glorious  sunshine 
flooded  the  whole  interior.  It  streamed  in  mighty 
beams  through  the  colorless  windows  facing  the 
west,  and  set  at  naught  all  puny  attempts  to  make 
the  most  splendid  church  in  the  world  look  dark 
and  dull.  About  six  o'clock  the  throng  was  the 
greatest.  For  two  hours  people  had  been  pour- 
ing in,  but  only  a  small  part  of  the  vast  floor  was 
occupied.  Among  the  worshipers  or  spectators 
were  friars  of  every  known  order,  richly  attired 
officers  of  every  grade  in  the  Italian  army,  com- 
mon soldiers  of  all  branches  of  the  service,  men 
and  women  representing  every  nation  of  Europe, 
and  a  great  many  Americans,  besides  countless 
numbers  of  the  highest  as  well  as  the  lowest  classes 
of  Roman  society.  The  spectacle  was  one  of  deep 
interest,  aside  from  the  somber  devotional  exer- 
cises which  had  convoked  this  immense  multi- 
tude. 

On  Easter-Sunday  hundreds  of  shops  were  still 
open  in  the  narrower  and  poorer  streets  of  Rome. 
The  day  was  perfect.  The  sun  shone  from  a  cloud- 
less sky — just  warm  enough  to  be  pleasant.  We 
drove  to  St.  Peter's  at  9.30  A.  M.,  and  found  every- 
body going  in  the  same  direction.  But,  although 
people  had  been  streaming  into  the  church  for  an 
hour  before  we  arrived,  the  number  on  the  floor 


42  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

was  hardly  noticeable.  The  magnificent  pictures 
were  again  revealed  in  all  the  undimmed  fresh- 
ness of  their  original  tints.  The  lights  which  circle 
St.  Peter's  tomb  were  once  more  burning.  Red 
cloths  had  been  hung  over  some  of  the  marble 
pillars.  The  church  was  thus  made  as  bright  and 
beautiful  as  possible,  but  to  me  it  seemed  scarcely 
more  so  than  on  Good-Friday.  On  this  joyous 
occasion  the  English  cardinal,  Howard — a  thick- 
set man,  with  a  large  head  and  a  deep,  sonorous 
voice — conducted  the  services.  These  took  place 
almost  directly  beneath  the  dome,  and  were  heard 
and  witnessed  by  a  great  congregation.  The 
singing  by  the  choir  was  very  fine  —  the  boys' 
and  men's  voices  mingling  with  exquisite  effect. 
The  chanting  of  the  priests  was  less  pleasing  to 
the  musical  ear.  While  these  exercises  were  pro- 
gressing under  the  dome,  priests  were  celebrating 
masses  in  many  of  the  side-chapels,  which  were 
also  partly  filled  with  worshipers.  At  the  boxes, 
which  serve  as  confessionals,  were  fathers,  who 
touched  the  kneeling  faithful  with  long  wands. 
As  for  the  bronze  image  of  St.  Peter,  there  was  a 
constant  succession  of  persons,  of  all  ages  and 
stations  in  life,  who  kissed  his  foot  in  passing,  care- 
fully wiping  the  well-worn  spot  before  applying 
their  lips  to  the  cold  metal. 

Interesting   as  was   the   occasion,  it  was  tame 


ROME— GOOD-FRIDAY  AND  EASTER. 


43 


compared  with  the  ceremonies  observed  by  the 
Popes  before  the  patrimony  of  Peter  passed 
under  the  control  of  the  King  of  Italy.  In  the 
old  days  the  Holy  Father  read  the  mass  in  St. 
Peter's  on  Easter-Sunday,  and  was  borne  from  the 
church  in  grand  procession.  At  a  later  hour  he 
appeared  on  the  loggia,  and  gave  his  benediction 
"to  the  city  and  the  world."  After  dark  there 
was  a  wonderful  illumination  of  the  dome.  All 
these  striking  rites  and  customs  are  now  things  of 
the  past.  Pope  Leo  XIII  was  nowhere  publicly 
visible  during  the  joyous  festival  of  1886.  He  was 
seen  only  by  a  few  of  the  strangers  in  Rome — 
themselves  devout  Catholics — who  had  previously 
obtained  cards  of  admission  to  the  private  chapel 
where  the  Pope  himself  officiated,  and  they  took 
the  sacrament  from  his  hands. 

The  most  popular  man  in  Italy  is  the  King. 
No  statesman  shares  with  him  the  confidence  and 
affection  of  the  people.  One  day  I  noticed  a  stir 
in  and  about  the  great  doorway  of  the  Hotel  de 
Londres,  where  I  was  stopping.  Heads  were 
bared  on  all  sides.  Everybody  in  sight  was  bow- 
ing profoundly.  In  front  of  the  hotel  stood  a 
common  open  carriage  with  two  horses,  simply 
caparisoned,  and  a  driver  in  dark  livery.  A 
tall,  handsome  officer  of  high  rank,  splendidly  at- 


44 


ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 


tired,  sat  on  the  left  side  of  the  vehicle.  The  rest 
of  the  seat  was  occupied  by  a  stout,  middle-aged 
man  in  citizen's  clothes.  His  cheek-bones  were 
high,  his  lower  jaw  was  massive,  his  mustache 
iron-gray,  and,  as  he  kept  up  a  constant  motion  of 
doffing  and  replacing  his  hat,  I  remarked  a  broad 
forehead  crowned  with  hair  thick  and  bristling. 
He  looked  just  enough  like  the  portraits  of  Hum- 
bert the  First  to  convince  me  that  he  was  the  King 
of  Italy.  And  so  it  proved.  He  had  called  at  the 
Hotel  de  Londres  to  visit  the  Prussian  Princess 
Marie,  who  had  a  suite  of  rooms  at  the  house.  This 
lady  is  the  widow  of  the  "  Red  Prince  "  Frederick 
Charles.  She  happened  to  be  out  at  the  time,  and 
so  the  King  did  not  alight,  but  drove  away  in  his 
modest  turn-out,  receiving  from  all  persons  on  the 
Piazza,  di  Spagna  the  most  respectful  salutation. 
Drivers  of  carriages  on  hire,  and  even  beggars  at 
the  street  corners,  were  greeted  by  him  as  court- 
eously as  the  Roman  nobles  who  dashed  past  him 
in  equipages  far  more  showy  than  his  own.  The 
day  previous  to  this  visit  he  had  made  a  return-call 
on  Prince  Fushimy  of  Japan  at  the  same  hotel. 
Though  politeness  costs  nothing,  it  goes  far  to 
make  King  Humbert  a  great  favorite  with  crowned 
heads  as  well  as  with  the  Italian  people.  That 
policy  of  Italy,  which  has  made  friends  of  every 
nation  in  Europe,  is  dictated  by  the  King,  and  repre- 


ROME— GOOD-FRIDAY  AND  EASTER.        45 

sents  his  considerate  politeness  and  native  shrewd- 
ness. The  courage  which  he  showed  at  Naples 
during  the  last  cholera  epidemic  was  only  one  of 
numerous  instances  proving  his  devotion  to  the 
welfare  of  his  constitutional  subjects.  His  queen 
— the  "  Pearl  of  Savoy  " — is  not  less  successful  in 
winning  hearts.  She  is  a  fine-looking  blonde,  an 
accomplished  whip,  the  patroness  of  unnumbered 
charities,  and  as  courteous  as  her  lord. 

Visiting  the  Pantheon,  I  saw,  just  as  I  did  three 
years  before,  many  people  standing  in  front  of  the 
tomb  of  the  late  Victor  Emanuel.  They  were 
mostly  Italians,  by  whom  the  memory  of  the  man 
who  made  their  country  one  is  almost  worshiped. 
Hundreds  of  wreaths  of  immortelles  and  other 
flowers  are  hung  around  and  above  the  tomb. 
These  come  from  all  the  secular  universities,  acad- 
emies, and  public  institutions  of  Italy,  and  also 
from  private  hands.  They  are  renewed  from  time 
to  time,  and  look  beautifully  fresh.  Long  stream- 
ers of  silk  or  satin  attached  to  the  floral  offerings 
bear  inscriptions  eulogistic  of  //  R%  Galantttomo. 
In  a  large  book  which  lies  open,  visitors  volun- 
tarily enter  their  names.  Hundreds  of  thousands 
have  thus  been  registered  since  the  mortal  remains 
of  Victor  Emanuel  were  here  inshrined.  There 
could  be  no  grander  mausoleum  than  the  Pantheon. 


46  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

It  is  the  best  preserved  of  all  the  great  edifices  of 
ancient  Rome — identified  with  the  mightiest  power 
of  the  old  world,  and  with  the  rise  and  progress  of 
Christianity.  No  longer  a  pagan  temple,  but  a 
Christian  church,  it  is  the  proper  resting-place  of 
the  unifier  of  Italy.  Although  the  relations  be- 
tween the  Quirinal  and  the  Vatican  have  been 
much  strained  ever  since  the  Pope  lost  his  tempo- 
ral sovereignty,  it  is  not  impossible  that,  some  day, 
the  Roman  Catholic  Church  will  be  proud  that  she 
holds  within  her  consecrated  Pantheon  the  ashes  of 
the  king  who  was  still  her  son.  At  the  Pantheon, 
as  at  St.  Peter's,  I  am  always  struck  with  the  mag- 
nificent effect  of  the  admission  of  pure  sunlight, 
free  from  the  intervention  of  stained  glass.  The 
sole  illumination  of  the  Pantheon,  you  know,  comes 
from  a  great  circular  hole  in  the  dome.  It  admits 
the  rain,  which  leaves  a  round  wet  place  on  the 
stone  floor  beneath.  But  there  is  still  ample  room 
for  the  free  movement  of  the  crowds  that  come  and 
go,  without  dampening  their  feet.  Majestic  as  is 
the  dome  that  rises  in  its  perfect  curve  to  a  height 
of  140  feet  above  the  floor,  it  impresses  the  be- 
holder even  less  than  the  sight  of  the  distant  -blue 
concave  which  he  sees  through  that  immense  open- 
ing. As  for  the  details  of  the  interior,  they  appear 
in  the  flood  of  daylight  in  all  their  richness  and 
variety  of  color.  It  by  no  means  follows  that  a 


ROME— GOOD-FRIDAY  AND  EASTER.         47 

"religious  light"  should  be  "dim."  St.  Peter's 
and  the  Pantheon  triumphantly  refute  that  too 
prevalent  notion. 

None  of  my  guide-books — even  the  most  recent 
in  date — give  any  description  of  some  remarkable 
and  interesting  statues  and  pedestals  which  have 
been  brought  to  light  within  a  year.  The  images 
are  life-sized  sculptures  of  what  might  be  called 
"  lady  superiors  "  of  the  Vestal  Virgins.  No  one  of 
whom  I  inquired  could  tell  me  where  they  were ;  but 
I  found  them  for  myself  in  an  open  excavated  space 
not  far  from  the  Forum  Romanum.  Two  or  three 
of  the  statues  are  almost  perfect.  They  are  marble, 
exquisitely  chiseled,  and  are  doubtless  good  resem- 
blances of  the  distinguished  originals.  Though 
vestal  virgins,  they  have  a  matronly  look.  They 
were  evidently  women  of  intellectual  ability,  as 
also  of  high  social  rank.  They  seem  born  to  com- 
mand. Their  main  attire  was  the  full,  graceful 
robe  universally  worn  in  their  day.  Five  or  six 
thick  fillets  bound  about  their  foreheads,  covering 
also  part  of  their  hair,  reminded  me  of  a  badge 
almost  similar,  worn  by  nuns  of  various  orders  in 
the  Roman  Catholic  Church.  But,  though  their 
dress  was  all  simplicity  and  modesty,  their  bearing 
was  anything  but  humble.  The  whole  expression 
of  face  and  form  was  one  of  intense  self-satisfaction 


48  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

B 

and  pride.  The  pedestals  to  which  these  statues 
once  belonged  have  been  mostly  recovered  in  fine 
condition.  They  bear  warm  tributes  to  the  many 
virtues  of  the  illustrious  ladies  whom  they  com- 
memorate. And  yet  history  tells  us  that  the  ves- 
tal virgins  had  seats  of  honor  near  the  Caesars  in 
the  Colosseum,  and  without  pity  saw  Christians 
devoured  in  the  arena  by  wild  beasts,  and  that  no 
spectators  were  more  heartless  than  they  when  the 
fallen  gladiators  looked  up  to  their  boxes  for  the 
signal  of  mercy  which  should  have  saved  them 
from  the  victor's  sword ! 

At  least  once  a  year  that  dreadful  old  ruin — the 
Colosseum — is  the  scene  of  a  ghastly  and  weird 
illumination.  The  exhibition  came  off  on  the  night 
of  the  24th  of  April,  between  ten  o'clock  and  mid- 
night. The  interior  of  the  stupendous  structure 
was  packed  with  human  beings  who  waited  for  a 
long  time  with  much  impatience  for  the  show  to 
begin.  Suddenly  brilliant  lights — many  electric 
and  others  calcium — flashed  out  from  the  lofty 
tiers  of  the  amphitheatre,  while  a  belt  of  fire  girded 
the  top  wall.  The  effect  was  startling.  Every 
stone  and  brick  in  the  huge  pile  was  instantane- 
ously revealed,  photographing  itself  in  imperish- 
able lines  on  the  brain  of  the  beholder.  The  feel- 
ing excited  was  akin  to  terror.  The  faces  of  all 


ROME—GOOD-FRIDA  Y  AND  EASTER. 


49 


those  men  and  women  looked  pale,  as  they  were 
upturned  to  the  heights  where  thousands  of  brutal 
Romans  had  so  often  sat  and  feasted  on  scenes  of 
torture  and  butchery.  To  behold  the  Colosseum 
by  moonlight  is  something  never  to  be  forgotten, 
as  the  partial  shadows  lend  themselves  to  the  con- 
juration of  specters  from  the  dark  passage-ways 
which  one  sees  all  around  him.  But  the  illumina- 
tion of  which  I  write  is  still  more  impressive,  when 
red  and  green  lights  are  alternately  used.  These 
are  somehow  infernal  in  their  suggestiveness. 
When  to  their  peculiar  effects  you  add  the  hoarse 
cries  of  great  companies  of  rooks  aroused  from 
their  repose  in  the  crevices  of  the  topmost  tiers — 
and  circling  wildly  through  the  air  overhead — you 
have  something  very  much  like  a  pandemonium, 
which  is  repeated  in  a  nightmare  when  you  return 
home  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  V. 

CUTTING  A   KING — MARGHERITA,  QUEEN  OF  HEARTS. 

ONE  does  not  often  have  the  chance  of  being 
uncivil  to  a  king.  But  it  was  my  misfortune  on 
one  occasion  to  be,  or  to  seem,  downright  rude  to 
Humbert  the  First. 

We  were  taking  a  carriage-ride  in  the  Villa 
Borghese.  The  sun  glared  intensely.  The  broad 
drives  in  the  grounds  had  not  been  sprinkled,  and 
the  dust  rose  in  clouds  under  the  few  wheels  that 
stirred  it  up.  My  eyes  were  sheltered  with  blue 
glasses,  and  a  light  umbrella  held  against  the  sun 
cut  into  the  view  very  seriously.  The  coachman, 
after  the  manner  of  his  race,  had  been  pointing  out 
objects  of  interest  with  which  we  were  already  per- 
fectly familiar,  clothing  his  superfluous  information 
in  a  Tuscan  patois.  We  paid  no  attention  to  the 
numerous  remarks  delivered  at  us  over  his  left 
shoulder,  as  our  exhaustive  study  of  the  Villa  Bor- 
ghese on  previous  visits  had  qualified  us  as  first- 
class  guides  to  the  place.  Therefore,  when  he  said 
something  that  sounded  like  "  Eel  R-ray  "  (// 


CUTTING  A  KING.  51 

did  not  associate  the  words  with  the  instant  ap- 
proach of  the  King  of  Italy. 

A  moment  later  a  two-horse  carriage  dashed 
past  us.  The  horses  were  black  and  beautiful, 
throwing  out  their  fore-legs  with  a  free  and  splen- 
did action.  A  gentleman  (whom  I  should  not  have 
failed  to  recognize,  but  for  my  blue  glasses  and  the 
whirl  of  dust)  sat  bolt  upright  on  the  front  seat, 
guiding  his  spirited  team  with  a  firm  hand.  The 
seat  behind  was  occupied  by  a  servant  in  quiet 
livery.  The  equipage  came  and  went  like  a  flash  ; 
but,  quick  as  it  was,  the  accomplished  driver  had 
time  to  take  off  'his  hat  at  us,  moving  it  through  an 
arc  of  about  two  feet,  and  replace  it.  Before  I 
could  answer  this  remarkably  courteous  salute 
from  an  entire  stranger,  he  was  off.  Meantime 
coachee  had,  in  his  humble  way,  atoned  for  my 
short-coming.  He  had  lifted  his  hat  and  bowed 
profoundly.  When  all  was  over,  he  turned  clear 
round  and  said  again  (this  time  almost  reproach- 
fully), "  Eel  R-ray,  signor."  Then  I  knew  that  I 
had  cut  a  king,  and  that  our  driver,  who  had  ob- 
served my  discourtesy  with  a  side  eye,  was,  in 
effect,  chiding  me  for  it. 

The  good  fellow  saw  that  I  was  flustered  by 
this  unpleasant  incident ;  for  I  really  burned  with 
shame  to  think  that  I  should  be  guilty  of  rudeness 
to  the  politest  of  kings  in  his  own  capital.  So  he 


52  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

hastened  to  explain  to  me,  as  nearly  as  1  could 
make  out  from  his  provincial  Italian,  that  the  King 
would  be  sure  to  pass  us  again  in  a  few  minutes. 
For  you  see  the  Villa  Borghese  is  not  very  large, 
and  carriages  keep  circling  about  and  returning  on 
their  tracks.  Well,  this  time  I  determined  to  be 
ahead  of  the  King,  and  doff  my  hat  first,  through 
as  ample  a  curve  as  my  arm  would  allow.  I  shut 
up  the  umbrella  and  pocketed  the  blue  glasses,  that 
nothing  might  impede  the  grace  of  the  atoning 
action.  Sure  enough,  just  as  we  turned  the  end  of 
a  long  oval,  there  was  the  King  bearing  down  on 
us  again. 

Looking  at  him  over  my  box-seat,  I  identified 
him  easily  by  the  front  view.  In  all  Italy  there  is 
no  second  pair  of  mustaches  like  his;  they  curl 
like  rams'  horns,  and  are  almost  as  thick.  His 
horses  were  trotting  a  two-and-a-half-minute  gait, 
and  his  piercing  black  eyes  sparkled  with  pleasure 
as  he  watched  them.  A  second  more,  and  he  was 
on  our  port-bow,  as  sailors  would  say.  Then  was 
my  time.  Having  the  brim  of  my  Derby  well  in 
hand,  I  made  a  tremendous  flourish  with  it  at  His 
Majesty.  If  gestures  convey  ideas,  then  he  must 
have  seen  that  I  meant  to  pay  the  utmost  respect 
to  him  as  the  democratic  King  of  Italy.  The  mon- 
arch instinctively  raised  his  hand  to  his  hat  as  if  to 
take  it  off ;  then,  catching  a  clear  sight  of  my  face, 


CUTTING  A  KING. 


53 


he  evidently  remembered  me  as  the  ill-bred  person 
whom  he  had  met  in  his  rounds  five  miuutes  be- 
fore. His  eyes  were  instantly  averted.  He  did 
not  remove  his  hat.  This  time  the  King  of  Italy 
had  cut  me,  and  had  served  me  just  right. 

The  most  affable  of  coachmen  then  managed 
to  explain  that  we  should  probably  intersect  the 
orbit  of  the  King  for  the  third  time,  if  we  kept  on 
driving  around  the  grounds.  For  my  own  part  I 
had  had  about  enough  of  it.  The  King  and  I  were 
even.  So,  to  avoid  the  embarrassment  of  a  third 
meeting,  I  ordered  the  man  to  leave  the  Villa  and 
go  over  to  the  Pincian  Hill.  He  turned  the  horses 
for  the  purpose,  but  had  not  proceeded  far  before 
the  well-known  stiff  figure  and  the  flaring  mus- 
taches intercepted  our  retreat  by  dashing  down  a 
side-road  out  of  a  little  piece  of  woods.  I  would 
have  given  something  to  avoid  the  encounter.  But 
there  was  no  escaping  it.  As  the  King  drew  into 
the  main  road,  the  salute  I  felt  bound  to  make  was 
an  awkward  one,  and  I  was  conscious  of  a  slight 
tingling  in  the  tips  of  my  ears.  His  Majesty  must 
have  noticed  my  confusion,  for  there  was  an 
amused  look  in  his  eyes,  and  his  mustaches  were 
not  thick  enough  to  mask  the  slight  upward  curves 
at  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  And  then,  in  the  off- 
hand way  which  has.made  him  so  genuinely  popu- 
lar, he  doffed  his  hat  and  returned  my  bow  with 


54  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

accrued  interest.     So  happily  ended  my  first  ex- 
change of  civilities  with  a  king. 

A  short  ride  transferred  us  from  the  Villa  Bor- 
ghese  to  the  Pincian  Hill.  We  reached  the  crest 
in  time  to  hear  the  four-o'clock  concert,  performed 
before  an  attentive  audience  of  a  hundred  per- 
sons in  carriages  and  a  thousand  on  foot.  The 
selections  were  all  from  Italian  composers,  and 
probably  known  by  heart  by  most  of  the  people 
present,  who  stood  or  sat  like  statues  as  if  en- 
tranced by  the  music.  The  band,  which  belongs 
to  the  finest  regiment  of  the  Roman  garrison, 
played  divinely.  But  all  the  charm  of  their  per- 
formance could  not  keep  my  eyes  and  thoughts 
from  the  Eternal  City  basking  in  the  warm  sun- 
shine below — a  wide  expanse  of  churches,  palaces 
and  ruins.  Almost  every  church  is  crowned  with 
a  dome,  and  each  of  these  huge  bulbs,  whose  slates 
reflect  the  sun  with  a  dull  glow,  looks  like  a  feeble 
imitation  of  Michael  Angelo's  great  work.  But  not 
one  of  them  detracts  from  the  grandeur  of  St 
Peter's,  which,  from  whatever  point  of  view  it  is 
seen,  dwarfs  all  the  rest  into  insignificance.  St. 
Angelo  Castle — in  shape  a  snuff  box — the  uplifted 
swell  of  the  Pantheon,  the  Capitol,  the  Quirinal  Pal- 
ace, are  easily  identified  through  the  haze  which 
envelopes  all.  The  blue  Campagna  is  dimly  seen 
in  the  distance.  Through  the  foreground  the  yel- 


MARGHERITA,   QUEEN  OF  HEARTS.          55 

low  Tiber  makes  its  serpentine  curves,  flashing  like 
gold  under  the  westering  sun. 

The  next  day  we  had  the  good  fortune  to  meet 
the  Queen  while  driving  in  the  Villa  Doria  Pamphilj. 
That  time  royalty  had  no  cause  to  complain.  The 
most  loyal  of  her  subjects  could  not  have  outdone 
my  obeisance,  though  it  was  rendered  more  to  the 
beautiful  woman  than  to  the  Queen.  She  did  not 
descend  upon  us  unawares,  like  the  King  the  day 
before.  We  knew  of  her  coming  afar  off,  for  she 
advertised  her  approach  by  the  scarlet  magnifi- 
cence of  her  box-cloth  and  'the  blazing  uniforms  of 
her  coachman  and  foot-guards.  I  saw  this  brill- 
iant turn-out  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  and,  having 
kings  on  my  mind  just  then,  supposed  that  His 
Majesty  was  taking  the  air  in  state.  I  was  re- 
lieved and  pleased  when  our  driver,  pointing  his 
whip  at  the  flaming  red  spots  in  the  distance,  said, 
"  La  Regina  !  "  Just  at  that  point  in  the  road  stood 
a  line  of  carriages  drawn  up  in  waiting  to  see  the 
Queen  pass.  Some  of  them  had  been  standing 
there  a  long  time  in  expectation  of  the  event,  for 
it  had  become  known  that  she  would  make  the 
circuit  of  the  Villa  Doria  Pamphilj-  that  after- 
noon ;  and  the  best  place  of  all  to  see  her  was  that 
wide  opening  in  the  road,  where  our  victoria  had 
joined  the  many  other  carriages.  The  Queen 


-r 


56  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

passed  us  all  at  the  slowest  of  paces.  Each  person 
in  the  long  line  received  an  individual  nod  from 
her,  given  with  exceeding  dignity  and  grace.  She 
is  every  inch  a  queen ;  and  that  is  saying  a  great 
deal,  for  she  is  of  the  Junonian  order,  and  her  un- 
common height  is  made  symmetrical  by  a  gener- 
ous breadth  of  shoulders  and  a  satisfying  pleni- 
tude of  bust.  Her  arms,  as  guessed  at  by  the 
outlines  of  her  tight  sleeves,  are  strong  and  shape- 
ly. Her  eyes  are  a  deep  blue,  her  hair  is  a  light 
chestnut,  her  complexion  her  own  pink  and  white. 
People  who  think  of  Italians  only  as  swarthy  in 
face,  with  hair  and  eyes  of  jet,  do  not  know  of 
what  delicate  beauty  the  race  is  capable  when  it 
strays  into  the  blonde  type.  Queen  Margherita  is 
at  the  head  of  the  fair  branch  of  the  great  Italian 
family.  She  is  the  "  Pearl  of  Savoy."  She  was 
dressed  with  the  severest  simplicity.  There  was 
not  a  jewel  visible,  and  one  did  not  remember  the 
colors  she  wore.  Her  own  flower,  the  daisy,  is 
not  less  ostentatious.  But  her  native  loveliness 
needs  no  ornamental  setting.  She  reigns  over 
men's  hearts  by  her  birthright  of  beauty ;  and  I 
can  think  of  no  better  phrase  to  couple  with  this 
than  the  homely  one  that  she  is  "  just  as  good  as 
she  looks." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

NAPLES — SORRENTO — CAPRI — PyESTUM. 

MY  sanitary  inspection  of  Naples  was  hasty, 
and  did  not  prepare  me  to  give  the  city  a  clean 
bill  of  health.  The  streets  through  which  I 
passed  were  less  dirty  than  those  of  New  York. 
Except  for  certain  foul  smells  on  the  water- 
fronts, there  was  nothing  in  Naples  to  alarm  the 
stranger,  ever  sensitive  on  the  subject  of  fever  and 
cholera.  The  light-hearted  Neapolitans  laugh  at 
the  fears  of  Englishmen  and  Americans.  They  are 
now  claiming  great  things  for  their  city  on  the 
strength  of  their  new  and  copious  water-supply. 
Visitors,  however,  refuse  to  believe  in  its  excel- 
lence as  a  beverage,  and  persist  in  drinking  Apolli- 
naris,  Victoria,  St.  Galmier,  Source  Badoit,  and 
some  other  natural  or  doctored  water.  It  is  not 
for  the  interest  of  hotel-keepers  to  decry  those 
bottled  waters,  from  the  sale  of  which  they  make 
large  profits.  But  the  landlord  of  the  "  Nobile  " 
assured  me  that  none  of  them  can  possibly  be  purer 
and  healthier  than  the  fluid  which  sparkles  un- 


58  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

touched  in  the  caraffcs  on  his  tables.  The  water  is 
freely  used  for  sprinkling  the  streets  and  sluicing 
the  gutters.  The  fountains  of  New  York  are  dried 
up  and-  mute ;  but  those  of  Naples  play  at  certain 
hours  of  the  day,  if  not  from  morning  to  night. 
They  remind  us  of  the  abundant  jets  and  cascades 
which  we  had,  with  so  much  regret,  left  behind  us 
at  Rome.  Though  the  weather  in  early  May  is 
extremely  pleasant,  and  the  heat  just  right  for  out- 
of-door  exercise,  the  sun  glares  at  times  with  Ital- 
ian fierceness.  Then  it  is  refreshing  to  see  the 
fountains  glittering  aloft,  and  to  hear  the  musical 
splash  of  their  waters  in  deep  marble  basins. 

The  radical  improvements  which  are  expected 
to  render  Naples  one  of  the  healthiest  cities  of 
Europe  have  yet  to  be  made.  But  they  are  all 
planned,  and  the  work  has  begun  on  some  of  them. 
They  include  a  complete  system  of  sewerage  and 
the  construction  of  long,  wide  streets  through 
those  populous  quarters  where  the  sun  and  fresh 
air  never  come  now.  It  was  in  this  swarming, 
dark,  and  unventilated  district  that  the  cholera  did 
its  worst.  Toward  these  great  works  the  Italian 
Government  has  contributed  ten  million  dollars, 
and  the  city  (and  province)  of  Naples  eight  million 
more.  It  is  by  showing  such  interest  in  the  for- 
tunes of  all  her  component  parts,  especially  the 
large  cities,  that  unified  Italy  deepens  her  hold 


-THE  "HOT  MONTH"   OF  MAY,  59 

upon  the  affections  of  her  people  all  over  the  pen- 
insula. 


Snow  on  Vesuvius  in  May !  The  weather  at 
Sorrento  flies  in  the  face  of  all  the  authorities.  We 
have  been  warned  a  hundred  times  not  to  visit 
Southern  Italy  during  the  "  hot  month "  of  May. 
At  the  Hotel  Tramontane  we  burned  little  sticks 
of  wood  at  the  rate  of  a  quarter  of  a  cord  a  day  in 
the  vain  effort  to  keep  our  sitting-room  comfort- 
able. Our  English  friends  have  misled  us  in  the 
kindest  manner  possible.  They  call  the  weather 
warm  at  60°  Fahr.,  and  hot  at  70°.  Americans,  ac- 
customed to  broiling  summers  at  home,  find  this 
climate  barely  genial  at  the  very  time  when  Eng- 
lishmen are  roasted  out  of  it.  Therefore,  I  say, 
put  no  faith  in  their  statements  where  temperature 
is  concerned.  Men  who  never  wear  overcoats,  and 
who  walk  twenty  miles  before  breakfast,  are  no 
guides  for  people  less  hardened.  With  the  excep- 
tion of  one  day  (strangely  enough)  in  London,  and 
another  in  Naples,  we  have  not  stopped  at  a  hotel 
where  a  fire  at  night  was  not  a  necessity  as  well  as 
an  expensive  luxury.  Of  course,  the  thickness  of 
the  walls  is  responsible  for  some  of  the  coldness. 
At  Naples  I  looked  down  from  the  balcony  of  my 
hotel  and  watched  some  masons  at  work  just 
across  the  narrow  street.  They  were  laying  out- 


60  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

side  walls  three  feet  thick,  and  walls  of  two  feet 
between  the  rooms.  The  rising  structure  seemed 
to  be  a  jail  or  a  bank.  I  inquired,  and  found  it 
was  designed  for  an  elegant  private  residence. 
Yet,  for  the  exclusion  of  heat,  it  might  as  well  be 
a  prison,  and  would  look  like  one,  if  the  walls  were 
not  papered  and  frescoed. 

Vesuvius  is  an  ever-fascinating  subject  of  study. 
I  observe  it  fifty  times  a  day  with  undiminished 
interest.  The  changed  position  of  the  sun  and 
every  passing  cloud,  and  especially  the  shifting 
directions  and  forms  of  the  "  smoke,"  make  a  new 
picture  of  the  mountain  every  time.  The  natives 
for  twenty  miles  around  look  upon  Vesuvius  at 
once  as  a  barometer  and  a  weather-vane.  When 
the  vapor — for  such  it  is  for  the  most  part — drifts, 
they  know  from  what  quarter  the  wind  is  blowing. 
The  capricious  shapes  it  suddenly  assumes  at  times 
foretell  them  of  coming  storms  or  calms.  I  am 
not  yet  deep  in  this  lore.  But,  all  the  same,  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  note  the  protean  changes  of  the  escap- 
ing steam.  Sometimes  it  goes  straight  up  to  the 
sky  in  a  long,  slender  shaft,  and  at  the  extreme 
height  opens  out  like  a  palm-tree.  Then,  again,  it 
looks  like  a  mushroom,  with  a  thick  stem  and  a 
"  chunky  "  top.  Often  it  streams  out  horizontally 
at  great  length,  like  the  smoke  of  a  steamer  at  sea. 
When  the  wind  is  out  of  the  north  or  east,  accom- 


THE  BLUE  GROTTO.  6 1 

panied  by  a  slight  rain,  then  I  notice  that  the 
vapor  rolls  down  the  mountain  like  its  own  lava. 
At  other  times  Vesuvius  makes  a  huge  white  cap 
or  turban  for  itself — the  vapor  settling  down  on 
the  peak  and  remaining  stationary.  Frequently 
this  enlarges  into  a  shroud  and  gradually  covers 
the  volcano  from  head  to  foot.  At  night,  when  the 
sky  is  clear,  there  is  only  one  thing  to  be  seen  on 
Vesuvius — that  is  the  dull-red  light  which  crowns 
its  dark  outlines.  While  under  my  observation  it 
was  in  a  state  of  unusual  activity.  It  "  worked," 
as  the  phrase  is. 

One  morning  "  Old  Vesuve  "  (for  so  one  finds 
himself  calling  the  volcano  after  a  short  acquaint- 
ance) indicated  a  change  of  wind  from  the  north- 
east to  the  southwest.  This  favored  an  expedition 
to  the  famous  Blue  Grotto  of  Capri,  which  can  not 
be  entered  when  the  wind  is  driving  the  water 
against  and  into  the  narrow  opening  through 
which  the  little  boats  must  pass.  I  made  the  trip 
from  Sorrento  to  Capri  by  steamer,  and  was  then 
transferred  to  a  frail-looking  but  stanch  canoe,  most 
skillfully  handled.  The  waves  were  pretty  high — 
the  effect  of  a  storm  which  had  lasted  two  days. 
As  we  neared  the  portal  of  the  grotto,  it  seemed 
impossible  to  shoot  through  it,  for  it  is  not  more 
than  three  feet  high  and  three  wide,  and  the  water 


62  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW, 

was  constantly  rushing  in  and  out  of  it  with  a 
deafening  roar  and  showers  of  spray.  At  times 
more  than  half  of  the  opening  was'  filled  with  the 
current,  which  threatened  to  dash  the  fragile  bark 
into  splinters  and  drown  the  passengers.  The 
boatman  himself  hesitated.  The  conditions  were 
much  worse  than  those  he  usually  overcame  with 
ease.  But  he  watched  his  chances,  and,  seizing  a 
moment  when  the  current  was  setting  outward,  he 
caught  hold  of  a  jutting  point  of  rock,  and,  by  a 
sudden  jerk,  swung  us  in.  I  had  been  lying  flat 
in  the  boat,  drenched  with  spray.  Responding  to 
his  call,  I  sat  up  and  looked  around. 

My  first  feeling  was  of  disappointment.  The 
grotto  is  not  blue.  The  wonderful  color,  of  which 
one  hears  so  much,  is  in  the  water.  The  vault  rises 
to  a  graceful  arch  in  the  center  and  covers  a  space 
— irregular  in  shape — equal,  perhaps,  to  125  feet 
square.  Its  point  of  greatest  height  is  thirty  or 
forty  feet  above  the  water.  The  stone  is  of  a  dirty 
white,  and  the  faint  reflection  of  light  from  its  con- 
cave surface  doubtless  has  something  to  do  with 
the  production  of  the  phenomenon  which  gives  the 
grotto  its  name.  The  water  of  the  Mediterranean 
is  beautiful  under  all  conditions.  One  need  not 
penetrate  grottoes  in  order  to  admire  its  tints,  ever 
varying  on  a  background  of  blue.  But  here  the 
relations  of  the  water  to  the  light  of  day  are 


THE  BLUE  GROTTO.  63 

unique.  I  tried  to  study  the  thing  in  cold  blood, 
and  these  are  my  conclusions  about  it:  Some  of 
the  diffused  daylight  enters  the  cave  through  the 
only  opening  above  the  water-line.  This  light 
irradiates  the  water  to  a  certain  depth,  and  causes 
the  white  roof  to  be  reflected  in  it.  A  great  deal 
of  light  also  enters  beneath  the  surface  of  the 
water,  through  the  opening  which  descends  to 
the  floor  of  the  grotto.  This  floor  also  seems  to 
be  white  (as  observed  by  me)  at  its  depth  of  (say) 
fifty  feet.  It  therefore  sends  back  the  reflection 
which  the  water  has  already  received  from  the 
limestone  roof.  This  double  effect  gives  a  brilliant 
silver  tone  to  the  inclosed  mass  of  blue  water. 
One  hunts  in  vain  for  some  comparison  to  convey 
a  clear  idea  of  the  unearthly  beauty  of  the  spec- 
tacle. •  Sky-blue  satin  with  the  sun  shining  on  it 
would  resemble  the  surface  of  the  water  as  I  saw  it. 
But  that  simile  fails  to  describe  the  extraordinary 
effects  of  the  Blue  Grotto.  These  are  mainly  de- 
rived from  the  depths,  and  are  best  compared  to 
the  sheen  of  silver  and  blue  which  are  noticed  in 
the  heart  of  a  sapphire  held  up  against  the  sun- 
light. 

I  was  rudely  aroused  from  these  cogitations  by 
a  boat  bumping  against  mine.  A  man  in  it  apolo- 
gized, and  thrust  a  card  into  my  hand.  Inspecting 
it  by  the  faint  light,  I  saw  that  it  was  the  menu  of  a 


64  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

dejedner  which  would  be  held  hot  in  waiting  for  all 
comers  on  the  arrival  of  the  steamer  at  the  Marina 
Grande,  or  chief  landing-place  of  the  island,  farther 
on.  Feeling  hungry,  I  ordered  my  boatman  to 
return  to  the  ship.  The  exit  was  easily  made.  As 
soon  as  all  the  visitors  to  the  grotto  were  safely 
on  board,  we  proceeded  to  sour  other  destination. 
The  business  energy  of  the  man  who  chose  so 
strange  a  place  to  advertise  his  table  d'hote  break- 
fast was  not  without  reward.  I  patronized  his 
hotel.  His  quail  was  nice,  as  it  ought  to  have 
been,  for  the  island  is  celebrated  for  the  abundance 
and  succulence  of  that  bird.  But  that  which  he 
served  as  the  wine  of  Capri  would  in  New  York  be 
called  water  with  a  dash  of  vinegar.  There  are 
some  ruins  of  a  villa  of  Tiberius,  which  may  be 
seen,  per  donkey,  at  the  top  of  a  high  hill.  But 
one  ruin  more  or  less  is  nothing  in  this  land  of 
wrecked  greatness.  So  I  contented  myself  with  my 
Blue  Grotto,  and,  when  the  steamer  whistled  for 
her  truant  passengers,  bade  a  good-by  to  Capri. 

It  is  interesting  to  watch  the  fishermen  at  work 
just  underneath  my  windows.  The  Hotel  Tra- 
montane stands  150  feet  above  the  sea,  on  a  rock 
that  is  lapped  by  its  waves.  The  nets  have  been 
set  the  night  before,  and  at  daybreak  the  racket 
begins.  Men  in  boats  go  out  to  regulate  matters 


FISHERMEN  OF  SORRENTO.  65 

and  take  the  fish  from  the  meshes.  There  is  a 
crowd  of  people  on  shore  hauling  at  the  ropes 
and  slowly  dragging  the  nets  and  their  prey  out 
of  the  depths.  They  are  mostly  women,  with  bare 
legs  and  arms,  as  strong-looking  as  the  men.  They 
pull  in  unison,  slowly  and  carefully.  Presently 
they  cease,  in  compliance  with  orders  screamed  to 
them  from  the  captains  of  the  boats.  Then,  from 
my  height,  I  see  one  net  raised  to  the  surface  with 
extreme  caution.  The  harvest  is  about  to  be  gath- 
ered in.  The  men  out  there  tug  at  the  seine  as  if 
it  were  heavy.  They  soon  have  it  well  in  hand. 
Their  joyous  shouts  tell  the  anxious  women  on 
shore  that  the  catch  is  a  good  one.  They  lift  the 
net  now  with  the  greatest  possible  care,  and  I  be- 
gin to  see  its  silvery  contents.  The  fish,  which 
almost  cover  its  exposed  surface,  shine  like  new 
standard  dollars.  The  men  shake  and  strip  them 
off,  and  they  fall  a  glittering  heap  into  the  bot- 
tom of  the  boat.  I  should  say  there  were  bush- 
els of  them,  and  rejoice  that  the  brave  fisher- 
men and  their  wives  will  have  something  to  eat 
and  much  to  spare  for  the  market.  In  size  and 
taste  these  smelts  are  exactly  like  those  we  eat  in 
America.  I  shall  relish  them  a  little  more  at  the 
table  to-night  after  having  "  assisted,"  as  a  French- 
man would  say,  in  the  operation  of  catching 
them.  - 


66  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

I  wonder  how  much  of  the  sub-Treasury  build- 
ing in  Wall  Street  will  still  be  standing  in  the  year 
4372?  This  question  occurred  to  me  very  forcibly 
as  I  gazed  on  the  majestic  ruins  of  the  Greek  tem- 
ples at  Passtum.  These  are  supposed  to  date  back 
to  about  600  B.  c.  They  are  all  in  the  same  general 
state  of  decay  as  the  Parthenon  at  Athens,  which 
they  much  resemble.  The  largest  and  best  pre- 
served is  the  Temple  of  Neptune,  which  vividly  re- 
calls, by  its  dimensions  and  form,  the  Wall  Street 
temple  of  quite  another  kind.  The  original  thirty- 
six  Doric  columns,  each  about  eight  feet  in  diame- 
ter, are  yet  proudly  erect,  and,  at  a  little  distance, 
seem  in  perfect  condition.  Only  when  one  comes 
near  to  them  does  he  discover  how  the  tooth  of 
Time  has  gnawed  into  and  marred  their  exquisite 
shape.  The  outline  of  the  eastern  front  is  yet  so 
complete  that  it  could  be  "  restored  "  by  the  addi- 
tion of  a  few  great  stones.  Long  rows  of  other 
fluted  columns,  not  far  off,  are  the  remains  of  a 
structure  to  which  the  name  Basilica  is  given  for 
want  of  a  better.  A  third  ruin  still  farther  away 
is  called  the  Temple  of  Ceres,  or  of  Vesta,  just  as 
one  pleases.  Thus  uncertain  is  the  most  accu- 
rate knowledge  we  now  possess  about  Poseido- 
nia,  which  the  Greeks  dedicated  to  Neptune,  on 
a  lovely  site  near  the  Mediterranean,  twenty-five 
centuries  ago.  It  must  have  been  a  large  and  im- 


67 

portant  settlement  in  their  day.  But,  in  the  pres- 
ent year  of  grace,  not  a  single  stone  or  trace  of  any 
edifice  (of  the  old  Greek  town)  can  be  found,  ex- 
cept of  the  three  I  have  named,  the  massive  con- 
struction of  which  has  alone  saved  any  part  of 
them  to  astonish  and  delight  the  modern  world 
with  their  noble  and  beautiful  proportions.  Bits 
of  Roman  antiquities  lie  around,  but  these  are  so 
very  new  in  comparison  with  the  glorious  Greek 
fragments  that  one  regards  them  without  interest. 
Formerly  a  trip  to  Psestum  was  attended  with 
danger  from  brigands.  Now  your  sole  risk  is  ma- 
laria of  the  worst  type.  I  am  happy  to  inform  any 
Americans  who  may  desire  to  see  the  treasures  of 
Paestum  that  they  may  now  be  spared  a  long  and 
fatiguing  ride  through  a  flat  and  monotonous  coun- 
try. A  railway  has  been  completed  from  Batti- 
paglia  to  Passtum,  linking  it  directly  and  easily 
with  Naples,  Salerno,  and  La  Cava.  We  made  our 
journey  from  the  latter  point,  starting  about  10 
A.  M.,  spending  two  hours  among  the  ruins,  and 
getting  back  a  little  after  six — a  great  improve- 
ment on  any  possible  way  of  "  doing  "  Paestum  be- 
fore the  rails  were  laid.  But  quinine  is  still  as  in- 
dispensable to  the  cautious  visitor  now  as  a  pistol 
was  thirty  years  ago. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

FRESH  DIGGINGS  AT  POMPEII— VESUVIUS  "WORK- 
ING"—  THE  TELL-TALE  SEISMOGRAPH  —  SOLFA- 
TARA. 

IT  seems  odd  to  speak  of  a  dead  city  as  a  grow- 
ing one.  But  that  is  exactly  the  case  with  Pom- 
peii. There  are  many  cities  in  Italy  that  do  not 
grow  half  as  fast  as  the  one  buried  by  the  ashes  of 
Vesuvius  eighteen  hundred  years  ago.  A  person 
visiting  it  at  intervals  of  a  year  notices  a  marked 
enlargement  of  its  boundaries.  The  Italians  are 
the  champion  diggers.  They  make  the  shovel  fly 
when  they  attack  the  grave  of  Pompeii.  We  saw  a 
gang  of  them  at  work  there.  A  government  over- 
seer watched  them  like  a  hawk.  He  wanted  to  be 
sure  that  they  pocketed  no  jewelry,  coins,  or  ob- 
jects of  art  or  utility  yielded  by  the  excavations. 
The  only  produce  of  their  toil  in  that  line,  as  we 
stood  by,  was  a  bit  of  iron,  which  the  guide  called 
a  hinge,  and  the  fragment  of  a  small  marble  col- 
umn. The  spades,  busily  plied,  were  gradually 
bringing  to  light  a  beautiful  house.  The  floors 


FRESH  DIGGINGS  AT  POMPEII.  69 

were  mosaic,  with  simple  but  graceful  designs  in 
scroll-pattern — nearly  as  fresh  of  color  as  if  laid  yes- 
terday. The  walls  bore  frescoes  of  fainter  tints — 
grinning  masks,  fauns,  Cupids,  birds,  fish,  and  fruit. 
It  had  evidently  been  the  home  of  a  well-to-do  citi- 
zen of  Pompeii.  The  nervous  movements  of  the 
workmen  betrayed  their  anxiety.  They  were  hop- 
ing at  every  moment  to  make  a  valuable  "  find." 
Perhaps  they  might  hit  upon  a  great  iron  chest — 
studded  with  round  knobs  like  a  boiler — and  full  of 
gold,  money,  or  ornaments ;  or  they  might  strike 
another  wonder  in  marble  or  bronze ;  or  they 
might  be  startled  by  coming  suddenly  upon  a  skull 
or  other  human  remains.  In  the  latter  event  the 
work  is  suspended  till  a  careful  inspection  is  made. 
The  responsible  and  intelligent  person  in  charge 
proceeds  to  ascertain  if  the  dead  Pompeiian  has  left 
a  mold  of  himself  or  herself  in  the  plastic  ashes.  If 
so,  he  prepares  a  mixture  of  plaster-of-Paris,  breaks 
a  hole  in  the  crust  and  slowly  pours  in  the  liquid 
till  the  mold  is  full.  When  it  has  hardened,  the 
casting  is  tenderly  removed.  Lo  !  there  is  a  rough 
image,  showing  some  poor  creature  in  the  agonies 
of  death,  prone  on  the  floor,  face  downward. 

Thus,  most  usually,  were  the  inhabitants  of  the 
doomed  city  caught  by  the  destroying  angel.  The 
skull,  or  leg,  or  arm,  or  whatever  other  part  of  the 
skeleton  has  not  relapsed  into  its  original  dust,  may 


70  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

attach  itself  to  the  plaster  cast  in  the  proper  place, 
or  may  require  to  be  joined  on  by  a  pardonable 
"  restoration."  In  either  case  the  effect  is  thrilling 
in  its  horrible  reality.  Nothing  in  painting  or 
sculpture  can  shock  the  beholder  more  than  these 
self-produced  and  truthful  statues  exhibited  in  the 
museum,  which  is  the  first  and  most  interesting 
thing  shown  to  visitors.  But,  though  neither  gold 
nor  silver,  nor  the  minutest  scrap  of  a  skeleton,  nor 
anything  else  of  importance  was  unearthed  for  my 
benefit,  I  quitted  the  new  excavations  with  reluc- 
tance to  examine  those  parts  of  Pompeii  with 
which  the  world  is  already  familiar  through  the 
medium  of  books  and  pictures.  I  found  myself 
quite  at  home  in  the  bakery,  the  wine-shop,  at  the 
oil-merchant's,  at  the  houses  of  Pansa,  of  Sallust,  of 
the  "  tragic  poet,"  and  the  rest.  The  high  step- 
ping-stones across  the  streets  looked  familiar,  as  if 
I  had  trodden  them  before.  The  deep  ruts  cut  by 
the  carts  as  they  groaned  up  the  hill,  coming  from 
ancient  Stabia,  were  like  friendly  landmarks.  So 
fully  have  literature  and  art  made  us  acquainted 
with  this  disinterred  city. 

The  guide  tells  me  that  only  about  one  third  of 
Pompeii  has  yet  been  uncovered.  I  take  his  word 
for  it.  He  is  also  of  the  opinion  that  the  best  parts 
of  the  city  have  already  been  dug  out.  He  evi- 
dently wishes  that  the  work  would  stop.  He  is 


FRESH  DIGGINGS  AT  POMPEII.  71 

very  human  in  this,  for  he  finds  it  tiresome  to  show 
people  about  the  present  Pompeii.  Treble  its  size, 
and  his  labor  would  be  threefold.  And  he  is  for- 
bidden to  accept  money.  But  I  imagine  that  this 
very  stern  prohibition  does  not  prevent  some  per- 
sons from  offering  him  quantities,  quite  private- 
ly, or  him  from  accepting  them.  It  may  be  true, 
as  our  guide  insists,  that  the  temples,  forums, 
baths,  theatres,  and  fine  houses  now  above-ground 
surpass  anything  of  the  kind  that  may  hereafter  be 
discovered  at  Pompeii.  But  the  Italian  Govern- 
ment is  not  disposed  to  take  that  for  granted.  Lib- 
eral sums  are  yearly  appropriated  to  push  on  the 
work.  It  bears  fruits.  A  new  temple  or  amphi- 
theatre may  not  be  struck  every  year,  but  some- 
thing is  constantly  being  turned  up  to  instruct  the 
world  in  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  old  Ro- 
mans, so  well  reflected  in  the  representative  city  of 
Pompeii.  Of  bronze  or  stone  statues,  household 
implements,  and  tools  of  trades,  the  yield  is  im- 
mense and  steady.  These  may  be  counted  by  the 
thousand  in  the  splendid  museum  at  Naples.  One 
can  see  so  many  articles  of  luxury  and  use  exactly 
similar  to  those  he  buys  nowadays,  that  he  is  fain 
to  pause  and  try  to  remember  what  besides  the 
steam-engine,  the  photograph,  and  the  electric  tele- 
graph, we  moderns  have  invented.  There  being 
no  more  room  at  Naples  to  store  these  treasures, 


72  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

the  excess  of  them  is  huddled  together  in  the  court- 
yards and  houses  of  Pompeii  herself.  It  is  esti- 
mated that,  at  the  present  rate,  this  mine  of  antiqui- 
ties will  not  be  worked  out  in  fifty  years. 

Vesuvius  is  the  most  deceptive  of  mountains. 
We  know  how  treacherous  and  cruel  he  is.  But  as 
we  see  him  gently  smoking,  in  the  haze  of  this  soft, 
enervating  atmosphere,  we  think  him  very  much 
maligned.  The  chimney  of  a  well-regulated  house 
could  not  be  steadier  of  behavior.  His  sides  look 
sleek  in  the  distance.  One  would  never  suspect 
that  all  that  brown  softness  is  lava,  fifty  feet  deep, 
and  covering  thousands  of  acres.  When  I  ascended 
the  volcano,  I  realized  how  illusory  are  impressions 
when  formed  afar  off.  After  traversing  Portici 
and  Resina  (old  Herculaneum),  the  carriage  climbed 
a  steep  slope  between  country  villas  with  "  plenty 
of  fruit  and  shade,"  as  the  advertisement  of  a  coun- 
try-house to  let  would  say.  Presently  a  sharp  turn 
in  the  road  brought  me  face  to  face  with  the  head 
of  a  lava-stream  which  had  been  mercifully  stayed 
at  that  point  years  ago.  The  road  had  been  cut 
through  it,  showing  its  depth,  and  that  was  enough 
to  have  buried  in  its  path  any  of  the  villas  I  had 
seen  below.  From  this  point  on  to  the  station  of 
the  Funicular  Railway  the  road  for  the  most  part 
passes  between  gray-black  walls  of  lava,  the  tops  of 


VESUVIUS  "  WORKING,"  73 

which  are  curled  like  waves  or  twisted  into  capri- 
cious spiral  forms,  and  then  forever  stilled.  Not 
a  flower  or  blade  of  grass  grows  there,  except  in 
crevices  where  dust  may  have  fallen  and  the  wind 
has  scattered  seeds. 

The  desolation,  mile  after  mile,  is  oppressive  to 
behold.  One  seeks  relief  by  looking  back  over  the 
blue  Mediterranean  and  the  reddish-white  cities  of 
the  plain.  Or  else  he  looks  ahead  and  up  to  Vesu- 
vius, whose  terrible  majesty  now  begins  to  appear. 
I  now  see  that  where  the  sea  of  lava  ends  the  ashes 
begin.  The  vapor,  which  seemed  to  curl  so  peace- 
fully and  thinly,  from  the  standpoint  of  Naples,  is 
mounting  to  the  sky  in  a  great  volume,  and  whirl- 
ing as  if  in  a  cyclone.  One  imagines  a  roar  as  that 
hot  steam  rushes  from  the  crater.  He  sees  specks 
tossed  into  the  air.  These  are  stones  flung  aloft 
two  hundred  to  three  hundred  feet,  and  dropped 
back  into  the  yawning  pit  to  be  presently  ejected 
again.  He  has  been  told  that  Vesuvius  is  a  little 
more  active  than  usual.  He  can  now  readily  under- 
stand of  what  frightful  deeds  the  volcano  is  capable 
when  in  the  maddest  humor.  Not  only  all  the  lit- 
tle cities  near  his  base,  which  have  been  rebuilt  in 
the  childlike  faith  that  they  will  never  again  be 
destroyed,  but  proud  Naples,  which  has  so  far  been 
spared,  are  at  his  mercy. 

After  I  had  ascended  by  railway  to  a  nearer 


74  ROUNDABOUT   TO  MOSCOW. 

view  of  the  monster,  and  completed  my  acquaint- 
ance with  him  as  far  as  it  was  safe,  familiarity  did 
not  lessen  my  respect  for  his  power.  It  seemed 
impudently  inquisitive  for  a  party  of  tiny  mortals 
to  be  throwing  stones  into  his  enormous  mouth, 
poking  canes  into  his  ribs  and  stirring  up  the  red 
fire  there,  and  laughing  as  the  dense,  sulphurous 
fumes  rose  in  our  faces.  The  guides  roasted  eggs 
for  us,  and  we  ate  them  with  a  pinch  of  salt,  chuck- 
ing the  shells  into  the  crater,  which  answered  back 
with  a  shower  of  red-hot  stones.  These  luckily 
missed  their  mark.  I  incline  to  think  that  some  of 
the  fun  made  by  our  company  of  visitors  was  like 
whistling  to  keep  up  one's  courage  ;  for  I  noticed 
that  the  noisiest  of  them  clung  hard  to  the  guides 
and  gave  a  wide  berth  to  the  crater's  edge,  and 
looked  most  pleased  when  the  signal  was  given  to 
return.  Just  as  we  started  on  the  downward  path, 
Vesuvius  made  a  noise  between  a  sob  and  a  shriek, 
and  belched  forth  a  farewell  volley  of  stones,  which 
might  have  spoiled  some  hats,  and  even  heads,  if 
they  had  been  shot  accurately. 

For  the  information  of  those  who  have  never 
ascended  Vesuvius  but  hope  to  do  so  some  day, 
I  add  that  the  trip  by  carriage  from  Naples  is 
three  and  one-half  hours  long  to  the  foot  of  the 
Funicular  Railway.  Thence  to  the  upper  station 
is  a  ride  of  twelve  minutes,  by  a  line  much  resem- 


THE   TELL-TALE  SEISMOGRAPH.  75 

bling  that  of  Mount  Washington  or  the  Righi, 
in  ease  and  safety.  From  there  to  the  top  of  the 
crater  is  a  steep  climb  of  fifteen  or  twenty-five 
minutes,  according  to  the  age  and  wind  of  the 
climber.  Persons  with  weak  lungs  or  shaky  legs, 
or  in  any  respect  infirm,  should  not  attempt  the 
latter  feat.  For  them  is  provided  the  chaise-porte. 
Two  strong  young  fellows  carry  this  like  a  bier — 
their  customer  sitting  composedly  (unless  he  or 
she  is  badly  scared)  in  the  chair  which  is  swung 
in  the  middle  of  two  long  poles.  The  bearers  are 
like  goats  in  sure-footedness,  strength,  and  agility. 
It  is  wonderful  to  see  them  pick  their  way  among 
the  huge,  jagged  pieces  of  smoking  lava  and  up 
the  steep  slope  of  hot  ashes,  ankle-deep,  without 
slipping.  In  an  hour  one  may  do  reasonable  jus- 
tice to  the  cone  and  crater,  and  in  two  hours  and 
a  half  more  be  back  in  Naples. 

On  my  way  down  the  mountain  I  profited  by 
a  little  spare  time  to  do  what  most  tourists  omit: 
I  visited  the  observatory.  This  building  is  se- 
curely placed  on  a  spur  of  Vesuvius  where  the 
lava-wave  parts  in  its  destructive  course.  Here 
dwell  day  arid  night,  all  the  year  round,  an  accom- 
plished scientist  and  an  able  staff,  whose  duty  it  is 
to  note  all  the  phenomena  of  eruptions  and  earth- 
quakes. In  reality  most  of  the  work  is  done  for 
them  by  instruments  of  almost  inconceivable  delica- 


76  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

cy  and  precision,  and  they  have  only  to  keep  these 
in  perfect  order.  This  exquisite  automatic  apparatus 
reports  everything  the  world  wants  to  know  about 
earthquakes  except  their  cause.  They  give  the 
direction  of  the  movement,  its  speed  and  intensity 
and  duration.  Though  the  man  who  climbs  to 
the  crater  does  not  observe  the  faintest  throb  be- 
neath his  feet  when  the  volcano  is  most  active, 
there  is  a  little  tell-tale  machine  down  in  the  ob- 
servatory which  vibrates  passionately  at  that  pre- 
cise moment.  It  is  not  at  rest  five  minutes 
together  during  the  whole  day.  If  the  motion  of 
the  trembling  is  horizontal,  then  a  hollow  brass 
ball  swings  toward  the  north,  south,  east,  and  west, 
as  the  case  may  be.  This  indicates  unerringly  the 
direction  of  the  earthquake-wave.  If  the  motion 
is  vertical,  then  a  spiral  coil  of  fine  wire  visibly 
shortens  and  springs  back  again.  Every  discharge 
of  stones  from  the  crater  above  causes  an  ex- 
traordinary agitation  of  the  wire.  You  see  the 
shower  and  the  sympathetic  action  of  this  sensi- 
tive coil  at  the  same  instant.  The  director  invites 
you  to  dance  a  jig  on  the  floor,  within  a  foot  of 
the  wire,  to  show  that  its  movements  correspond 
only  to  actual  tremblings  of  old  Mother  Earth. 
You  do  so,  jumping  as  high  as  you  can.  But  the 
apparatus  makes  no  sign.  The  heavy  rumbling  of 
a  wagon  in  the  road  outside  does  not  disturb  it. 


SOLFATARA.  77 

The  "  seismograph,"  as  it  is  called,  does  only  the 
work  for  which  it  was  designed.  The  director, 
however,  was  good  enough  to  switch  off  its  con- 
nection from  the  bowels  of  the  earth  to  my  pulse. 
No  doctor  with  hand  on  wrist  could  have  counted 
the  beats  more  accurately.  They  were  more  regu- 
lar than  those  of  Vesuvius,  if  not  quite  as  fierce. 
Out  of  the  millions  of  observations  taken  here 
in  the  course  of  years,  it  is  hoped  that  some  time 
an  exact  science  of  earthquakes  may  be  con- 
structed, with  possible  usefulness  to  mankind. 
For  three  or  four  days  before  the  appalling  ca- 
lamity in  Ischia  (just  off  this  coast)  in  1883,  all  the 
apparatus  of  the  observatory  was  greatly  excited. 
Something  frightful  was  brewing.  That  was  evi- 
dent to  the  watchers  up  there.  The  world  knows 
the  result.  If  it  could  have  been  foretold  in  time 
to  save  hundreds  of  lives  on  that  unhappy  island, 
that  would  indeed  have  been  a  triumph  of  science. 
At  the  center  of  the  old  volcanic  district  west 
of  Naples  is  the  great  crater  of  Solfatara,  not  yet 
quite  extinct.  Eight  centuries  ago  it  was  active 
and  destructive  ;  now  it  is  full  of  stunted  bushes 
and  tall  grass.  The  sulphurous  vapor  rising 
from  a  hole  about  three  feet  in  diameter,  on  one 
side  of  the  vast  bowl,  shows  that  a  fire  still  burns 
in  its  bosom.  One  can  not  see  the  red-hot  lava 
in  the  crevices,  as  on  Vesuvius.  But  if  the  hand 


78  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

is  held  in  the  ascending  steam  for  a  moment,  a 
scalding  heat  is  felt.  The  guide  who  conducted 
me  about  the  crater  actually  crawled  into  this 
hole  at  a  point  where  it  could  be  entered  horizon- 
tally. To  escape  suffocation  he  covered  his  mouth 
with  his  hand  and  kept  close  to  the  ground.  After 
about  a  minute  of  anxiety  on  my  part,  he  returned 
with  fine  specimens  of  sulphuric  deposits  exactly 
like  those  I  had  seen  fringing  some  of  the  chinks 
in  the  burning  flank  of  Vesuvius.  The  offensive 
smell  and  acrid  taste  of  the  vapor  which  poured 
forth  incessantly  from  this  subterranean  passage 
were  the  same  that  make  an  ascent  of  the  Vesuvian 
cone  so  trying  to  many  persons.  The  guide  as- 
sured me  that  the  connection  between  Solfatara 
and  the  great  volcano  on  the  Bay  of  Naples  was 
intimate  and  instant.  Whenever  Vesuvius  is  in- 
active, Solfatara  "  works  "  quite  fiercely.  When- 
ever Vesuvius  is  very  active,  Solfatara  is  disap- 
pointing. It  would  seem  from  this  statement  that, 
though  the  mountains  are  miles  apart,  they  both 
communicate  with  a  common  reservoir  of  molten 
matter. 

There  is  no  certainty  that  Solfatara  will  not 
break  out  again.  There  have  been  periods  of 
centuries  between  the  eruptions  of  Vesuvius ;  and 
it  is  a  recorded  fact  that  at  times  its  crater  has 
been  lined  inside  with  foliage,  so  reduced  was  its 


SOLFATARA.  79 

capacity  for  mischief.  As  there  is  no  present 
prospect  that  tourists  can  descend  in  safety  to  the 
floor  of  its  crater  and  study  minutely  the*  phe- 
nomena which  can  not  be  fairly  seen  from  the 
rim,  they  should  not  fail  to  visit  Solfatara.  They 
will  not  burn  the  soles  of  their  boots,  and  yet 
they  can,  if  they  please,  roast  eggs  by  digging 
down  about  a  foot  in  places  indicated  by  the 
guide.  They  can  realize  the  thinness  of  the  crust 
over  which  they  walk  .by  raising  a  large  stone 
and  throwing  it  down  violently.  The  ground 
gives  back  a  hollow  sound.  It  is  true  that  Sol- 
fatara does  not  eject  red-hot  stones,  even  the 
smallest.  But  that  is  a  point  in  its  favor,  ena- 
bling the  visitor  to  look  on  with  a  sense  of  perfect 
safety.  There  is  but  one  Vesuvius.  No  other 
volcano  is  as  accessible,  or  offers  as  many  advan- 
tages for  all  kinds  of  observations.  But  if  one  is 
at  Naples,  and  does  not  care  to  incur  the  fatigue 
or  other  discomforts  of  an  ascent  of  Vesuvius, 
Solfatara  is  a  good  substitute  excursion  and  is 
hereby  recommended;  and,  as  something  supple- 
mentary to  the  greater  event,  it  is  also  of  much 
interest. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

ITALIAN  BEGGARS  —  A  NEGLECTED  GRAVE  —  THE 
BLUE -GUM  TREE  AND  MALARIA  —  PERUGIA  — 
ETRUSCAN  TOMBS. 

IF,  by  a  stroke  of  this  pen,  I  could  banish 
every  beggar  from  Italy,  I  should  hesitate  to  do 
so.  They  may  deserve  the  punishment.  But  they 
are  amusing  rascals.  Life  here  would  be  duller 
without  them.  The  other  day  when  a  span  of 
tired  horses  were  dragging  me  up  Vesuvius,  three 
men  sprang  out  of  the  ground  in  front  of  the 
carriage.  I  do  not  know  how  else  to  explain  their 
sudden  appearance.  They  were  beggars  of  the 
musical  variety.  One  carried  a  fiddle,  the  second 
a  mandolin,  the  third  a  guitar.  Bowing  to  me, 
they  formed  a  line  on  my  right  and  marched  up 
the  mountain,  Indian  file,  playing  as  they  went. 
I  was  just  then  trying  to  realize  in  imagination 
the  terrible  splendor  of  the  eruption  that  had 
caused  the  flow  of  lava  fifty  feet  deep,  through 
which  the  carriage-road  was  cut.  These  three 


ITALIAN  BEGGARS.  8 1 

fellows  with  their  lively  Neapolitan  airs  disturbed 
me  greatly.  But  the  absurdity  of  the  situation 
soon  overcame  my  resentment.  I  laughed  heartily 
and  permitted  them  to  escort  me  about  a  mile 
before  dismissing  them  with  a  few  soldi.  We 
parted  friends,  and  they  proceeded  to  levy  tribute 
on  the  carriage  behind  me.  It  takes  philosophy 
to  extract  amusement  out  of  these  seeming  pests. 
But  happy  is  the  man  who  can  do  it,  for  Southern 
Italy  swarms  with  them. 

At  Baiae  where  we  were  taking  a  bad  lunch 
at  a  wretched  little  inn,  four  women  entered  the 
room,  and,  without  asking  our  leave,  began  to 
dance  the  tarantella.  They  were  probably  the 
wife  of  the  landlord  and  three  servants.  Their 
dancing  was  a  fitting  accompaniment  to  the  lunch 
they  had  provided  for  us.  One  of  the  women 
strummed  a  tambourine  as  big  as  an  old-fashioned 
kitchen  sieve.  This  supplied  the  only  music,  ex- 
cept that  the  other  three  kept  time  with  castanets. 
They  made  a  horrible  din,  and,  being  ill-favored 
and  shabbily  dressed,  were  anything  but  pleasant 
companions,  as  they  flirted  their  skirts  almost  in 
our  faces.  But  after  a  few  minutes  we  found  them 
with  all  their  faults  more  interesting  than  the  lunch, 
and  made  them  a  present  altogether  too  large  for 
their  deserts.  This  was  a  serious  mistake,  for  they 
all  rushed  off  and  speedily  returned,  with  bouquets, 


82  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

coral  jewelry,  and  antiquities  that  must  have  been 
at  least  forty-eight  hours  old.  All  these  they 
wanted  us  to  buy  at  exorbitant  prices.  Our  re- 
fusal to  do  so  angered  the  whole  party.  This,  of 
course,  put  an  end  to  the  fun.  So  I  settled  the 
tavern  score  hastily  and  we  returned  to  Naples. 
But  the  incident,  unsatisfactorily  as  it  terminated, 
remains  to-day  the  pleasantest  memory  of  a  visit 
to  ruins  that  were  not  worth  seeing. 

On  my  visit  to  the  Blue  Grotto  at  Capri,  it  re- 
quired the  utmost  obstinancy  to  refuse  the  demand 
of  my  boatman  for  a  two-franc  piece.  He  wanted 
me  to  throw  it  into  the  water,  and  see  him  dive 
and  bring  it  up  from  the  bottom.  If  I  had  ac- 
cepted his  offer,  he  would  have  whisked  off  his 
coat  and  shirt  (if  he  had  one),  and  gone  down 
fifty  feet  for  the  piece,  and  recovered  it  for  him- 
self without  fail.  But  I  was  anxious  to  get  back 
to  the  steamer  which  was  waiting  for  us,  and  reso- 
lutely declined  to  be  amused  at  that  price.  At 
Sorrento,  the  hotel  guests  standing  out  on  the 
balconies  overlooking  the  sea  were  constantly  im- 
portuned for  "  pennies  "  by  boys  in  the  boats  be- 
low. When  the  money  was  thrown  down,  the 
little  fellows  would  watch  its  course  through  the 
air,  and,  the  moment  it  struck  the  water,  they 
would  dive  into  the  pellucid  depths  and  in  a  flash 
reappear  with  it,  holding  it  aloft  between  thumb 


A  NEGLECTED  GRAVE.  83 

and  finger.  These  are  but  a  few  out  of  the  hun- 
dred methods  in  which  money  is  extracted  from 
you,  under  the  pretense  of  some  service  rendered 
or  amusement  supplied.  And  still  I  say  that  it 
pays  to  humor  all  these  people  to  a  moderate  ex- 
tent. And,  furthermore,  I  would  not  refuse  a  very 
modest  coin  to  the  ragged  but  picturesque  creature 
who  stands  at  every  church-door  and  lies  in  wait 
for  me  at  every  bit  of  rising  ground.  He  does  not 
pretend  to  give  any  equivalent  for  the  money  re- 
ceived. He  is  a  beggar  pure  and  simple.  He  has 
been  begging  for  thirty,  forty,  or  fifty  years.  In 
all  that  time  he  imagines  that  he  has  acquired 
"  rights,"  and  I  confess  I  almost  feel  ashamed  of 
myself  when  I  drop  my  insignificant  alms  into  his 
dirty  hand. 

"  Shelley  ? "  asked  the  man  in  charge  of  the 
Protestant  Cemetery  at  Rome,  when  we  appeared 
at  the  gate,  one  beautiful  afternoon  in  May.  It  is 
the  only  English  word  except  "  Keats  "  that  he  can 
pronounce  correctly.  Three  years  before  the  same 
man  put  the  same  question  to  us.  We  again  an- 
swered "  Yes."  For,  with  many  others  'of  the  Eng- 
lish-speaking race,  we  took  a  sad  pleasure  in  visit- 
ing the  graves  of  those  two  most  gifted  and  un- 
happy beings.  Shelley's  heart  alone  rests  in  the 
cypress-shaded  inclosure,  which  is  now  full  of 


84  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

graves.  The  rest  of  his  body,  we  remember,  was 
reduced  to  ashes  on  a  funeral-pyre,  in  the  presence 
of  Byron  and  some  others,  at  that  spot  on  the 
shore  of  Spezzia  Bay  where  the  drowned  poet  had 
been  cast  up  by  the  waves.  As  this  is  an  age  of 
monuments  to  neglected  genius,  I  was  curious  to 
see  if  anything  had  been  done  for  Shelley  by  his 
ardent  admirers  since  1883.  No!  there  is  the  old 
small  stone  flat  on  the  earth,  looking  moldier  than 
ever.  The  inscription  "  Cor  Cordium  "  is  filled  in 
with  dirt.  A  weed,  looking  like  burdock,  grows 
rankly  about  the  grave.  There  is  not  a  flower 
near  it,  unless  one  should  count  in  a  withered  and 
blackened  rose  which  some  pitying  soul  had 
thrown  down  on  the  center  of  the  dingy  marble 
slab.  This  may  have  been  lying  there  for  two  or 
three  months.  I  dare  say  fragments  of  it  will  be 
found  there  a  year  hence,  unless  the  wind  blows 
them  away.  For  it  is  evident  that  Shelley's  tomb- 
stone is  never  swept  and  cleaned  except  by  the  ele- 
ments. Trelawney,  the  life-long  friend  and  stanch 
defender  of  the  poet,  rests  beside  him.  He  died  at 
the  age  of  eighty-eight,  and  Shelley  at  thirty.  In 
standing  beside  these  two  graves,  equally  desti- 
tute of  human  care,  one  pays  a  tribute  to  friend- 
ship as  well  as  to  genius. 

Another  old  man— Severn — sleeps  alongside  of 
young  Keats,     Their  graves,  situated  in  a  free  and 


A  NEGLECTED  GRAVE.  85 

wind-swept  place,  outside  of  the  stuffed  cemetery, 
are  well  cared  .for.  The  same  good  people  who 
put  up  the  exquisite  portrait  of  Keats  in  alto-rili- 
evo  against  the  wall  of  the  portal  and  erected  the 
tombstone  in  memory  of  Severn,  doubtless  pro- 
vided for  proper  attention  to  the  graves.  The 
wall  near  by  is  thick  with  climbing  roses.  Daisies, 
buttercups,  and  some  flowers  not  so  familiar  to  us, 
star  the  lush  grass  on  every  side.  A  trim  hedge 
incloses  the  two  who,  in  death,  as  in  life,  were 
not  divided.  Keats  sleeps  under  the  shadow  of 
a  laurel-tree,  which  has  grown  much  in  the  last 
three  years,  and  still  supplies  leaves  in  abundance 
to  be  plucked  and  pressed  as  souvenirs.  As  we 
stood  there  and  watched  the  sharp  shadow  of  the 
venerable  pyramid  of  Cestius  slowly  creeping  to- 
ward us,  the  spell  was  broken  by  the  harsh  voice 
of  a  man  at  my  elbow.  "  What  a  shame,"  he  said, 
"  that  such  an  epitaph  should  be  allowed  to  stand 
above  a  grave ! "  I  turned  and  saw  an  English- 
man. He  referred,  of  course,  to  the  bitterness  of 
the  inscription,  alluding  to  the  savage  criticisms 
which,  doubtless,  hastened  the  death  of  the  con- 
sumptive, broken-hearted  Keats.  The  Englishman 
thought  it  was  high  time  to  erase  this  memorial  of 
a  by-gone  literary  feud.  "  True,"  I  replied,  "  the 
epitaph  does  seem  out  of  place  now,  when  the  po- 
sition of  Keats  among  the  English  immortals  is  as- 


86  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

sured.  But,  after  all,  should  it  not  be  kept  there 
as  a  warning  to  future  critics  ?  It  should  teach 
them  to  be  more  tolerant  of  young  authors,  with 
their  new  and  daring  styles."  The  other  man 
could  not  accept  that  view  of  the  case.  I  did 
not  care  to  discuss  it.  So  we  touched  hats  and 
parted. 

It  is  not  easy  to  find  out  the  exact  sanitary 
value  of  the  eucalyptus,  or  blue-gum  tree.  Ameri- 
cans who  inhabit  malarial  districts,  and  are  waiting 
for  Italy  to  test  the  tree  thoroughly  before  plant- 
ing it  in  their  own  grounds,  will  be  sorry  to  learn 
that  a  blight  has  fallen  on  a  great  many  promising 
groves  of  the  eucalyptus  in  this  country.  At  most 
of  the  railway-stations  in  South  Italy  the  trees  are 
withered,  if  not  yet  dead.  Their  leaves  are  yel- 
low and  curled  up,  and  have  only  a  faint  resinous 
smell.  Many  of  the  trees,  whose  leaves  are  still 
green  and  balmy,  are  stunted.  They  do  not  grow 
here  with  the  rapidity  and  vigor  of  the  eucalyptus 
in  Australia.  The  trouble  is  less  with  the  climate 
than  the  soil,  for  I  observed  at  some  stations 
every  sign  of  health  in  some  trees.  A  specimen 
would  show  robustness  in  every  leaf,  and  fill  the 
air  with  its  peculiar  odor,  while  another  one  not 
two  hundred  feet  away  would  be  drooping  and 
scentless.  In  those  few  places  where  the  tree  has 


THE  BLUE-GUM  TREE  AND  MALARIA.      87 

done  justice  to  itself,  as  one  may  say,  men  speak 
well  of  it.  They  regard  it  as  a  preventive,  to 
some  extent,  of  malarial  fever ;  they  ought  to 
know.  The  good  fathers  at  the  Abbey  of  Tre 
Fontaine,  near  Rome,  have  the  highest  opinion  of 
the  eucalyptus.  It  is  an  undoubted  fact  that  the 
very  free  planting  of  the  tree  in  and  about  the 
abbey-grounds  has  made  them  habitable.  It  takes 
kindly  to  that  particular  locality.  The  monks 
have  mastered  the  art  of  raising  it  to  perfection. 
They  have  a  vast  nursery  where  it  is  grown  by  the 
hundreds  of  thousands,  and  sold  cheaply.  The 
trees  which  I  had  noticed  at  so  many  railway-sta- 
tions all  came  from  Tre  Fontaine.  The  monks 
make  a  handsome  revenue  out  of  this  product.  It 
would  not  be  quite  fair  to  say  that  their  interests 
prejudice  them  in  its  favor,  though  one  could  hard- 
ly expect  them  to  underrate  something  the  cultiva- 
tion of  which  is  so  gainful  for  them.  To  sum  up  the 
matter,  according  to  my  present  light,  I  should  say 
that  where  the  eucalyptus  can  be  made  to  thrive 
it  is  a  check  on  malaria. 

The  old  town,  Perugia,  is  well  worth  visiting 
on  many  accounts.  Traveling  by  rail  from  Rome 
to  Florence,  one  sees  large  clusters  of  houses 
perched  high  on  the  hill-side.  They  are  crowned 
with  campaniles  and  domes,  surrounded  by  high 


88  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

t 

walls,  and  provoke  one's  curiosity  to  make  their 
closer  acquaintance.  But  on  consulting  his  guide- 
book, the  tourist  finds  that  these  elevated  settle- 
ments contain  few  objects  of  interest,  better  exam- 
ples of  which  can  be  found  elsewhere.  He  also 
learns,  which  is  as  much  to  the  purpose,  that  they 
have  no  good  hotels.  Now,  Perugia  is  very  old, 
very  quaint,  full  of  venerable  historical  associa- 
tions, a  center  of  Etruscan  tombs,  and  other  an- 
tiquities, seventeen  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  and 
has  a  first-class  hotel.  This  modern  structure,  the 
"  Grand,"  occupies  the  highest  ground  of  the  town, 
and  commands  a  magnificent  view  of  the  Umbrian 
Valley.  East,  south,  and  west  I  survey  all  the  de- 
tails of  a  landscape  of  variety  and  beauty  unsur- 
passed. It  is  intersected  by  the  Tiber  and  some 
smaller  rivers,  which  flash  in  the  morning  sun. 
Many  villages  are  visible  as  brown  patches,  among 
them  Assisi,  famous  as  the  birthplace  of  St.  Fran- 
cis. Mountains  bound  the  view  on  all  sides. 
Some  of  them  are  still  tipped  with  snow,  and  their 
summits  would  easily  be  mistaken  for  clouds  if 
these  were  not  scurrying  past  in  the  south  wind. 
As  I  write  a  haze  is  beginning  to  blot  out  the 
more  distant  villages.  A  heated  term  is  threaten- 
ing. But  Americans  are  not  to  be  frightened  by 
that.  Only  I  wish  the  roads  were  not  so  white 
and  dusty. 


ETRUSCAN  TOMBS.  89 

i 
This  country  is  a  vast  cemetery.     No  one  can 

say  how  many  races  were  buried  here  before  the 
Etruscans  passed  away  in  their  turn  and  left  the 
ground  honey-combed  with  their  tombs.  When 
one  sinks  a  well  or  digs  a  cellar  for  a  house,  he  is 
apt  to  strike  his  spade  against  a  rock,  which  gives 
back  a  hollow  sound.  It  is  the  roof  of  an  Etruscan 
burial-vault.  From  this  subterranean  chamber  the 
air  has  been  excluded  for  more  than  two  thousand 
years.  I  am  told  that  strange  things  are  some- 
times seen  in  the  tombs  at  the  moment  when 
they  are  opened,  and  then  vanish  forever.  They 
say  that  glimpses  are  caught  of  old  Etruscan  lords 
and  ladies  sitting  at  banquets,  and  that  these  disap- 
pear the  instant  the  outer  air  touches  them.  When 
the  finder  proceeds  to  open  and  examine  the  tomb, 
he  discovers  nothing  but  a  heap  of  dust  in  place 
of  the  vision  that  had  startled  him.  These  are 
obviously  fables,  for  the  most  part.  Though  I  be- 
lieve it  is  true  that  an  Etruscan  knight,  in  full 
armor,  collapsed  to  dusty  nothingness  in  precisely 
this  way  when  his  tomb  was  invaded  a  few  years 
ago.  We  have  been  to  see  the  Sepulchre  of  the 
Volumnii,  about  five  miles  below  Perugia,  and 
found  it  and  its  contents  very  strange  and  interest- 
ing. It  is  supposed  to  date  back  to  the  third 
century  B.  c.  A  descent  of  some  thirty  steps  leads 
down  to  it  from  the  road-side.  First,  a  chamber, 


90  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

about  twenty-five  feet  square,  is  entered,  and  from 
this  smaller  apartments  branch  to  right  and  left. 
The  sepulchre  is  hewn  out  of  the  tufa-rock.  It  is 
very  damp  and  cold.  Heads  of  Medusa,  dolphins, 
and  serpents  are  carved  with  much  skill  on  the  top 
and  sides  of  this  tomb.  All  around  stand  small 
stone  urns,  each  one  bearing  in  alto-rilievo  the  rep- 
resentation of  a  fight.  One  man  is  always  killing 
another,  unless  the  scene  is  varied  by  the  sacrifice 
of  a  bound  and  helpless  woman  or  child  on  an 
altar.  The  covers  of  these  urns  are  higher  works 
of  art.  They  are  surmounted  with  recumbent  fig- 
ures of  men  and  women.  These  are  dressed  in 
the  costume  of  their  age  and  sex,  and  each  has  in 
his  or  her  hand  a  bowl  for  tears.  Lifting  off  a 
cover,  I  find  inside  the  urn  about  a  hatful  of  ashes. 
I  run  my  fingers  through  this  mass  and  feel  frag- 
ments of  burned  bones.  But  I  am  rudely  stirring 
up  all  that  remains  of  some  gallant  warrior  or  some 
haughty  beauty,  and  withdraw  my  hand  with  a 
sense  of  remorse.  A  great  many  personal  orna- 
ments of  exceeding  richness  and  grace  have  been 
taken  from  these  receptacles,  and  are  separately  ex- 
hibited by  the  custodian.  But  if  one  wishes  to 
realize  the  full  extent  of  the  arts  and  sciences  fa- 
miliar to  the  old  Etruscans,  he  should  inspect  the 
splendid  collection  in  the  University  Museum  at 
Perugia. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

FLORENCE — BOLOGNA— COMO. 

SUNDAY,  May  23d,  being  at  Florence,  we  went 
to  the  Duomo.  Advancing  from  the  door  to  the 
center  of  that  magnificent  cathedral,  we  noticed  a 
crowd  of  persons  standing  there,  and  heard  a 
musical  voice  sounding  above  their  heads.  The 
edifice  is  so  vast  that  the  thousand  or  more  peo- 
ple who  composed  the  throng  occupied  compara- 
tively only  a  small  space  on  the  floor.  The  voice, 
the  source  of  which  we  could  not  trace  at  first  in 
the  dim  light  of  the  place,  proved  to  come  from 
a  pulpit  in  mid-air.  The  speaker  was  a  fine-look- 
ing man  about  fifty  years  old.  His  face  was 
highly  intellectual,  and  at  moments  intensely  spir- 
itual in  its  expression.  He  spoke  Italian  with  a 
sweetness  and  a  rhythmic  swing  delightful  to  the 
ear.  One  might  not  know  a  word  of  what  he  said 
— as  at  the  Italian  opera — and  still  enjoy  hearing 
him.  But  it  was  not  necessary  to  understand 
more  than  a  few  words — here  and  there — of  the 


92  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

beautiful  language  that  rolled  so  fluently  from  his 
lips  in  order  to  catch  the  full  purport  of  his  re- 
marks. His  theme  was  the  consolations  of  religion 
in  earthly  sorrows.  He  spoke  without  manuscript 
or  notes.  The  man's  heart  was  full  of  his  message, 
and  he  delivered  it  with  an  eloquence  that  held  his 
audience  spell-bound.  Officers  and  privates  of  the 
army,  gray-headed  civilians,  rich  men  and  beggars, 
women  and  children,  all  stood  there  with  parted 
lips  gazing  upon  his  face  and  drinking  in  his  words 
of  faith  and  cheer.  His  gestures  were  few  and 
natural.  They  seemed  freighted  with  meaning. 
At  times  he  would  point  up  to  the  glorious  dome, 
as  if  apostrophizing  the  angels  and  saints  who 
make  that  great  concave  seem  a  glimpse  of  heaven. 
Then  he  would  press  his  hand  fervently  upon  his 
heart,  as  if  to  testify  a  sincerity  for  which  no  such 
gesture  was  needed,  as  truth  and  zeal  shone  before 
all  men  in  every  line  of  his  face.  Suddenly,  while 
the  attention  of -his  hearers  was  rapt  and  almost 
painful  in  its  intensity,  he  stopped,  gave  the  con- 
gregation his  blessing  with  a  quick  motion  of  his 
right  hand  (a  sign  of  the  cross),  and  abruptly  left 
the  pulpit.  A.moment  later  I  saw  him  glide  rap- 
idly through  the  throng  with  a  thick  cloak 
wrapped  about  him,  and  a  shawl  tied  around  his 
neck.  His  impassioned  sermon  had  heated  him 
up,  and  he  was  very  wisely  taking  care  of  himself. 


ELECTION-DA  Y  IN  FLORENCE. 


93 


His  name  is  unknown  to  me,  and  I  may  never  see 
him  again.  But  his  eloquent  discourse,  which 
would  have  interpreted  itself  had  it  been  spoken 
in  Chinese,  will  ever  remain  one  of  my  pleasant- 
est  recollections  of  the  grand  old  Cathedral  of 
Florence. 

On  the  way  back  to  my  hotel  I  passed  the 
Palazzo  Vecchio.  As  I  stopped  to  inspect  its 
venerable  front,  a  small  boy  handed  me  a  print- 
ed slip  of  paper.  Looking  at  it,  I  found  it  to  be 
a  recommendation  of  somebody  with  a  long  name 
for  the  office  of  delegate  in  the  National  Assem- 
bly. It  was  signed  by  numerous  citizens  of  Flor- 
ence, all  highly  respectable,  probably,  but  stran- 
gers to  me.  Just  before  me  I  observed  one  man 
button-holing  another,  and  whispering  something 
in  his  ear.  Groups  of  people  were  conferring 
mysteriously  on  every  side.  Then,  for  the  first 
time,  I  noticed  that  the  Palazzo  Vecchio  itself  was 
plastered  over  with  enormous  placards  of  assorted 
colors — red,  green,  blue,  white,  and  yellow.  Let- 
ters a  foot  long  proclaimed  all  these  show-bills 
to  be  election  posters,  quite  in  the  American  style. 
They  were  all  dated  the  night  before  the  eventful 
day — namely,  Sunday — which  had  been  assigned 
for  the  great  struggle  between  the  friends  and  foes 
of  the  present  Italian  ministry.  Politicians  are  the 
same  in  all  countries.  The  cunning  fellows  in  Italy 


94  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

understand  as  well  as  their  American  kind  the 
art  of  issuing  "  last  cards "  and  "  final  appeals  " 
at  an  hour  too  late  for  refutation  by  their  oppo- 
nents. 

Desiring  to  compare  the  Italian  with  the  Ameri- 
can process  of  balloting,  I  climbed  to  a  large  upper 
room  in  the  palace  where  voting  was  then  in  prog- 
ress. Admission  was  impossible  without  aflermessv, 
which  it  was  not  worth  while  to  procure,  as  I  saw 
at  a  glance  through  the  doorway  how  the  business 
was  done.  A  number  of  officials  sat  at  a  long 
table ;  upon  it  were  glass  globes  for  the  ballots, 
and  books  for  identifying  and  checking  off  the 
voters.  The  formalities  were  in  substance  the 
same  as  those  which  so  effectually  deter  very  busy 
men  from  voting  in  New  York  except"  in  presiden- 
tial years.  With  a  population  of  1 50,000,  Florence 
is  entitled  to  cast  about  15,000  votes;  and  out  of 
these  the  proportion  of  stay-at-homes  is  as  large  as 
in  our  own  city.  Very  little  interest  was  actually 
taken  in  the  election,  although  the  political  jour- 
nals had  been  trying  for  a  week  to  "  get  up  steam  " 
with  pictorial  caricatures  and  big  head-lines.  The 
contest  was  evidently  one  between  the  ins  and  the 
outs,  and  the  great  majority  of  voters  had  no  real 
concern  in  the  issue.  But  the  lesson  was  no  less 
instructive  to  an  American.  All  that  I  saw  on  that 
election  Sunday  in  Florence  convinced  me  that 


FLORENTINE  MOSAICS.  95 

political  tricks   and  "  dodges "  are   by   no   means 
confined  to  our  beloved  country. 

The  tourist's  purse  should  be  well  stuffed  if  he 
wants  to  buy  Florentine  mosaics  at  the  shops  of 
the  most  famous  manufacturers.  The  prices  of 
some  of  their  products  would  be  called  high  even 
in  New  York.  Extra  fine  pieces  are  ticketed  at 
five  thousand  francs  and  upward.  Some  of  the 
makers  of  mosaics  have  grown  rich  on  American 
patronage.  It  is  not  at  their  shops  that  you  get 
bargains.  There  is  no  shade  of  color,  I  believe, 
which  the  artist  can  not  find  among  the  stones, 
shells,  or  corals  with  which  he  produces  his  won- 
derful effects.  As  all  great  works  of  art  require 
a  master  for  their  accomplishment,  it  stands  to 
reason  that  the  finest  original  landscapes,  portraits, 
and  flower  and  fruit  pieces  can  never  be  very 
cheap,  as  most  people  estimate  cheapness.  But 
it  is  possible  to  pick  up  fairly  good  mosaics  in 
Florence  at  reasonable  rates,  though  these  are  not 
the  rates  asked  by  the  seller.  He  does  not  expect 
you  to  give  more  than  a  half  or  two  thirds  his 
nominal  price.  I  have  visited  a  number  of  fac- 
tories of  fancy  goods  in  Italy,  and  observed  that 
nearly  all  the  labor  is  performed  by  mere  children. 
They  toil  many  hours  in  the  day,  and  are  poorly 
paid.  Under  the  pretense  that  they  are  being  edu- 


96  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

cated  to  a  trade,  they  continue  for  years  to  do  a 
journeyman's  work,  and  it  is  to  their  cunning 
hands  that  we  owe  some  of  the  most  marvelous 
imitations  of  masterpieces  in  wood-carving,  fili- 
gree, and  mosaic.  When,  therefore,  the  manufact- 
urer takes  off  a  half  or  a  third  of  his  asking  price, 
he  is  still  making  a  large  profit  on  his  goods.  No 
American  need  think  that  he  can  ever  get  the 
better  of  an  art-dealer  in  Europe.  That  is  impos- 
sible. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  sights  in.  the  envi- 
rons of  Florence  is  the  Carthusian  Monastery.  I 
had  the  pleasure  of  visiting  it  with  a  party  of 
American  ladies.  The  monastery  is  an  immense 
structure,  covering  acres  of  land,  and  contains  ten 
or  a  dozen  chapels  of  different  sizes.  This  is 
enough  to  give  each  monk  a  chapel  all  to  himself 
— the  inmates  not  exceeding  that  number.  For 
reasons  best  known  to  the  Italian  Government,  it 
has  been  decided  to  wind  up  certain  spiritual 
retreats,  and  this  Carthusian  Monastery  among 
them.  But  the  work  is  done  gradually,  and  the 
buildings  and  grounds  will  not  revert  to  the  Gov- 
ernment until  the  last  of  the  few  remaining  monks 
is  dead.  They  do  not  seem  likely  to  die  in  a  hurry. 
Some  of  them  would  take  the  prizes  in  any  human 
exhibition  for  fatness  and  sleekness.  Their  loose 


A  HANDSOME  MONK.  97 

and  flowing  robes  of  some  cream-colored  stuff,  per- 
haps, impart  an  unreal  fullness  to  their  figures. 
One  wonders  if  their  lives  are  quite  as  austere  as 
represented.  The  monk  who  piloted  our  party 
about  is  magnificent  in  physique.  He  stands  about 
six  feet  two  inches,  as  straight  as  an  arrow,  weighs 
fully  two  hundred  pounds,  has  a  winning,  slightly 
sunburned  Italian  face,  and  is  in  manner  a  perfect 
gentleman.  To  the  ladies  he  is  at  once  dignified 
and  courteous.  Somewhere  in  some  other  days 
he  must  have  mingled  with  refined  society,  and  I 
catch  myself  in  a  state  of  keen  surprise  when  I 
contrast  his  presumably  monastic  life  here  with  the 
gay  times  that  he  may  have  had  elsewhere.  He  is 
very  fluent  in  Italian  and  French,  as  if  he  were 
making  up  (poor  fellow !)  for  the  enforced  silence  of 
his  vows.  For  we  are  told  that  this  ready  talker 
is  allowed  to  converse  with  his  brethren  no  more 
than  one  hour  in  a  week.  We  are  shown  his  suite 
of  small,  miserable,  cheerless  rooms  where  he  re- 
ceives and  eats  his  frugal  meals,  which  are  shoved 
to  him  through  a  hole  in  the  wall  by  a  hand  at- 
tached to  an  unseen  person.  We  see  the  wretched 
straw  pallet  on  which  he  stretches  his  giant  frame, 
and  the  bare  table  where  he  makes  his  solitary  re- 
past. Then  we  look  again  at  his  healthy  face,  and 
still  wonder  by  what  alchemy  he  can  transmute  his 
solitude  and  privation  into  apparent  contentment 


98  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

and  even  happiness.  The  ladies  all  think  that  our 
handsome  guide  must  "have  a  history."  They 
imagine  that  somewhere  among  his  antecedents  is 
the  inevitable  "  woman."  They  speculate  fondly 
on  the  probabilities  of  some  love-affair  which  drove 
our  friend  from  a  luxurious  court  to  this  peni- 
tential abode.  They  unanimously  agree  that  it  is 
"  too  bad  "  to  keep  such  a  fine-looking  gentleman 
confined  in  a  monastery,  when  society  outside  is 
pining  for  precisely  that  kind  of  material.  But  our 
monk  makes  no  revelation  of  his  own  thoughts. 
After  he  has  patiently  taken  us  all  over  the  monas- 
tery, and  picked  flowers  for  the  ladies  as  memen- 
tos of  their  visit,  he  bids  them  good-by  with  the 
one  unchanging  expression  of  contentment  on  his 
face.  May  his  ample  shadow  never  be  less,  nor  his 
beard  of  raven  blackness  be  shorn  of  its  luxuriant 
proportions ! 

Entering  the  ancient  and  famous  city  of  Bo- 
logna May  24th,  I  could  think  only  of  the  sausage 
that  bears  her  name.  The  ideas  of  Bologna  and 
sausage  were  one  and  inseparable.  Could  any- 
thing be  more  ridiculous?  There  was  a  large, 
rich,  enterprising  city,  with  her  fine  picture-gal- 
leries, churches,  and  important  university,  two  re- 
markable leaning  towers,  and  many  branches  of 
industry  in  which  she  excels.  And  yet  I  found 


BOLOGNA   SAUSAGES.  99 

myself  looking  out  of  the  carriage-windows,  right 
and  left,  for  nothing  but  sausages !  Not  a  single 
specimen  of  them  could  be  seen  between  the  sta- 
tion and  the  hotel.  You  may  believe  I  was  much 
disappointed.  But  at  dinner,  among  a  great  va- 
riety of  French  dishes,  the  waiters  bore  around 
plates  covered  with  the  thinnest  possible  slices  of 
the  celebrated  sausage.  For  a  moment  I  hovered 
over  it  with  a  fork,  and  then  gave  myself  the  bene- 
fit of  the  doubt.  All  the  Italians  present  scram- 
bled for  it,  but  the  English  people  and  at  least  two 
Americans  at  table  let  it  alone.  Such  is  prejudice. 
After  dinner,  walking  about  the  shops  near  our 
hotel,  I  saw  plenty  of  sausages.  Indeed,  these  were 
the  most  beautiful  ornaments  of  the  shop-win- 
dows. Some  were  a  foot  in  diameter,  and  their  fine- 
ly-cut surfaces  looked  like  Roman  mosaic.  Aside 
from  her  sausages,  Bologna  is  well  worth  a  visit, 
and  even  those  persons  who  are  squeamish  about 
eating  them  can  not  help  admiring  their  decorative 
effect  when  exposed  for  sale  in  the  busy  parts 
of  the  city.  Their  artistic  combinations  of  tint 
lighten  up  the  shop-fronts  like  so  many  chromos  or 
colored  photographs. 

Next  day  we  examined  the  two  leaning  towers. 
One  of  them  is  particularly  interesting,  because  it 
is  claimed  by  some  authorities  to  be  the  only 


100  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

tower  in  all  Italy  which  leans  "  on  purpose."  The 
taller  of  the  pair  deflects  only  about  three  and  a 
half  feet  in  a  height  of  two  hundred  and  seventy- 
two  feet ;  while  the  other,  with  a  height  of  only  one 
hundred  and  thirty-eight  feet,  is  eight  and  a  half 
feet  out  of  plumb.  According  to  tradition,  if  not 
history,  this  obliquity  is  the  work  of  design.  One 
may  suppose  that  the  original  intention  was  to 
carry  the  short  tower  to  the  same  height  as  the  tall 
one,  and  that  the  architect  and  the  workmen  be- 
came frightened  as  they  proceeded.  One  feels  like 
"  standing  from  under "  as  he  looks  up  and  sees 
that  massive  chimney-like  pile  apparently  on  the 
point  of  toppling  over  with  its  own  weight.  I  can 
understand,  too,  that  the  masons  may  have  struck 
for  higher  wages  or  fewer  hours  as  the  tower 
beg-an  to  lean  more  and  more.  It  should  have 
needed  no  trade-union  or  Knights  of  Labor  to 
impel  them  to  make  a  demand  on  tKeir  employers. 
To  them  as  to  us  it  must  have  seemed  very  absurd 
to  build  a  tower  at  enormous  expense  for  the  ex- 
press object  of  showing  how  much  it  could  be 
made  to  lean  without  falling.  After  one  has  looked 
at  these  eccentric  structures  a  short  time  he  be- 
comes the  prey  of  a  singular  optical  illusion. 
Every  other  campanile  or  steeple  or  chimney  ap- 
pears to  be  leaning  more  or  less.  The  fronts  of  tali 
buildings  do  not  seem  to  be  exactly  up  and  down. 


LUNCHING  ON  LAKE  CO  MO.  IQI 

The  spectator  insensibly  compares  one  upright  ob- 
ject with  another,  and  discovers,  as  he  imagines,  a 
variance  of  a  yard,  or  a  foot,  or  an  inch,  from  the 
true  perpendicular.  He  becomes  painfully  skepti- 
cal about  the  stability  of  all  things,  and  does  not 
get  rid  of  this  disagreeable  impression  until  he 
leaves  Bologna,  and  ceases  to  see  the  pair  of  lean- 
ing towers  looming  always  above  the  horizon. 

Taking  one's  lunch  on  the  upper  deck  of  a 
Rhine  steamer  is  very  pleasant.  The  same  opera- 
tion is  highly  agreeable  on  a  Danube  boat.  The 
picturesque  scenery  of  both  rivers  is  enjoyed  all 
the  more  while  the  inner  man  is  duly  refreshed. 
But  a  lunch  eaten  in  full  air  on  the  smart  little 
craft  that  plies  on  the  most  beautiful  of  Italian 
lakes  between  Como  and  Bellagio  is  an  experience 
no  less  delightful.  The  food  and  the  wine  are 
good,  to  begin  with.  If  one  comes  up  from  Mila/i 
on  a  hot  and  dusty  day,  he  revels  in  the  coolness 
as  he  sits  under  an  awning  and  is  fanned  by 
breezes  that  have  swept  over  yonder  snow-fields  of 
the  Alps.  The  hotter  he  has  found  Rome  and 
Florence — and  the  more  wearisome  the  great  val- 
ley or  prairie  of  the  Po  has  seemed  to  him  as  he 
traversed  it — the  more  he  feasts  on  the  prospect  of 
mountains  now  all  around  him,  and  the  promise  of 
lower  temperature  which  they  do  not  hold  out  in 


102  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

vain.  The  hills  which  form  the  immediate  frame 
of  this  exquisite  lake  are  clothed  to  their  tops  in 
green — not  barren  on  the  summit  like  those  of 
Southern  Italy.  This  green  is  reflected  in  the  clear, 
deep  water,  and  perhaps  of  itself  explains  the  fine 
aquamarine  tint  for  which  Como  is  as  famous  as 
Lake  Leman  for  its  matchless  blue. 

Perhaps  no  person  who  ever  heard  or  read 
Claude  Melnotte's  description  of  Como,  as  poured 
by  him  into  the  too  credulous  ear  of  the  Lady  of 
Lyons,  can  look  on  this  lake  without  recalling 
some  or  all  of  that  delicious  bit  of  poetry.  This  is 
unfortunate.  Because  the  shores  of  lovely  Como 
do  not  abound  in  orange-groves  as  he  has  been  led 
to  expect.  Neither  does  he  see  anywhere  fount- 
ains gushing  forth  in  the  midst  of  roses.  Besides,  the 
environments  of  the  lake  are  far  from  soft  and  sen- 
suous. The  entire  effect  partakes  of  the  grand 
and  rugged.  It  is  only  of  the  water  itself  and  the 
villas  on  the  banks  that  the  epithet  beautiful  is 
spontaneously  used.  But  we  know  that  Claude 
Melnotte  was  only  romancing  when  he  painted 
Como  to  the  love-lorn  Pauline.  Bulwer  must  not 
be  held  responsible  if  travelers  do  not  find  here  ex- 
actly those  charms  which  they  had  been  prepared 
for.  But  none  the  less  is  the  Lake  of  Como  peer- 
less in  Italy.  If  it  has  a  rival  anywhere  it  is  in 
America.  Those  who  have  seen  Lake  George 


PERFUME  AND  SONG. 

may  with  some  show  of  justice  assert  its  equality 
with  Como  in  the  chief  elements  of  beauty.  I 
have  heard  the  comparison  made  more  than  once 
by  Americans  here  — to  the  disparagement  of 
Como.  But  why  compare  them  at  all  ?  They  are 
different  in  certain  respects ;  and  I  should  say  that 
in  those  variations,  and  those  only,  each  is  more 
charming  than  the  other. 

In  a  world's  competition  of  roses  the  Lake  of 
Como  would  stand  a  good  chance  of  carrying  off 
the  highest  honors,  for  the  profusion,  size,  variety, 
and  fragrance  of  those  flowers.  The  villas  here  re- 
call Byron's  flowing  line  about  "  the  gardens  of 
Gul  in  their  bloom."  And  then  the  nightingales  ! 
They  are  singing  ail  night  long  in  the  forest  on  the 
hill-side.  There  is  an  accompaniment  of  sweet 
woodland  music  to  odors  almost  oppressive  in 
their  richness.  The  old  fable  of  the  nightingale 
loving  the  rose  seems  to  be  possible  in  this  Eden 
of  Como. 


CHAPTER  X. 

PEASANT-GIRLS — NIGHTINGALES — ISOLA    BELLA — 
SAN   CARLO   BORROMEO   IN   COPPER. 

A  LUCKY  accident  enabled  us  to  get  an  inside 
view  of  some  little  Swiss  and  Italian  villages  rarely 
seen  by  tourists.  We  missed  a  boat  through  the 
fault  of  a  servant,  and  were  obliged  to  take  a  car- 
riage from  Lugano,  on  the  lake  of  that  name,  to 
Luino,  on  Lago  Maggiore.  The  day  was  beautiful, 
the  team  fresh,  and  the  route  not  described  in 
the  guide-books.  The  old  post-road  which  we 
traveled  is  still  kept  in  good  condition  for  local 
use.  We  did  not  pass  a  single  carriage  all  the 
way.  The  villages  of  Northern  Italy  are  almost 
uniformly  neat  and  clean.  The  inhabitants  are 
honest,  industrious,  and  self-respecting.  We  have 
not  seen  a  beggar  within  the  boundaries  of  the 
Italian  lakes.  The  scarcity  of  men  in  these  out- 
of-the-way  places  is  very  noticeable.  All  the  young 
and  strong  fellows  are  at  work  in  the  larger 
towns  along  the  lakes,  where  there  is  plenty  to 
do  for  willing  hands  in  the  "  season."  We  saw 


WORK  AND  PRA  YER. 


10$ 


no  natives  except  old  men,  children,  and  women. 
The  latter  do  everything  inside  and  outside  of  the 
houses,  the  shops,  and  the  taverns.  They  were 
gathering  in  a  crop  of  hay  from  all  the  fields 
along  both  sides  of  the  road.  The  fragrance  of 
the  new-mown  grass  filled  the  air.  Except  for  the 
women  with  their  rakes  and  forks  the  scene  in 
early  June  very  closely  resembled  that  of  a  New 
England  meadow  in  a  later  month.  There  are 
the  same  stone  walls  dividing  the  fields,  only  a  lit- 
tle better  built  than  those  in  America.  Daisies  and 
butter-cups  are  the  wild  flowers  in  greatest  abun- 
dance, though  there  are  many  others  peculiar  to 
this  part  of  the  world.  The  one  object  in  the  land- 
scape which,  above  every  other,  makes  a  differ- 
ence, is  the  high  square  tower  of  the  Campanile. 
The  traveler  is  never  out  of  sight  of  that  substitute 
for  the  American  steeple,  and  there  is  hardly  an 
hour  of  the  day  when  he  does  not  hear  its  sweet 
accord  of  bells  ringing  in  the  distance.  And  the 
people  of  these  little  hamlets  are  never  so  busy 
that  some  of  them  can  not  steal  a  few  minutes 
from  their  day's  work  to  enter  their  church  and 
kneel  in  silent  prayer.  As  we  walk  on  tip-toe 
down  the  cold  stone 'aisles  to  look  at  some  bit  of 
painting  or  sculpture  of  surprising  excellence,  we 
feel  ashamed  of  disturbing  the  poor  women  at 
their  devotions.  But  they  do  not  seem  to  mind  it, 


106  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

showing  far  less  curiosity  about  strangers  than  the 
average  congregation  of  a  church  in  any  small 
American  village  would  exhibit. 

In  this  memorable  ride  we  frequently  met  girls 
with  large  wicker  baskets  strapped  to  their  shoul- 
ders. The  bearers  were  healthy  and  strong,  and 
did  not  appear  to  need  the  aid  of  the  thick  stick 
which  served  as  a  cane.  There  are  no  tramps 
hereabout.  But  if  one  should  spring  from  the 
road-side  and  insult  that  muscular  young  creature, 
I  imagine  that  he  would  be  sorry  for  it ;  for  her 
stout  staff  is  gripped  in  a  large  hand  and  her  arm 
is  sinewy.  She  is  just  such  an  athlete  as  the  girl 
who  rowed  us  all  about  the  Bay  of  Lugano.  That 
rower,  by-the-way,  handled  the  oars  more  neatly 
than  any  boatman  we  have  seen  on  these  lakes. 
Her  stroke  was  faultless.  And  all  the  time  that 
she  was  cleaving  the  water  with  a  powerful  sweep 
she  was  talking  with  feminine  facility,  divining  by 
instinct  the  questions  we  were  about  to  ask,  and 
giving  us  the  very  information  we  would  have 
sought.  If  such  a  girl — instead  of  a  stupid  boy — 
had  been  the  driver  of  our  carriage,  I  might  have 
learned  more  worth  the  mention  between  Lugano 
and  Luino. 

Returning  to  the  lasses  on  the  road,  I  would 
add  that  the  monstrous  baskets  were  filled  to  the 
top  with  something  that  seemed  heavy.  The  girls 


PEASANT-GIRLS.  IO/ 

may  have  been  trudging  home  from  market  with 
goods  obtained  in  exchange  for  their  own  handy- 
work.  For  they  are  dexterous  at  spinning,  weaving, 
and  lace-making,  as  well  as  in  the  manufacture  of 
butter  and  cheese.  It  is  no  wonder  that  the  men 
confidingly  leave  all  the  interests  of  home  in  their 
charge.  Seeing  how  true  and  brave  they  are,  we 
can  not  help  regretting  that  those  straight,  hand- 
some forms  should  so  soon  be  bowed  down  by  the 
excessive  burdens  thrust  upon  them.  But  they 
would  be  the  first  to  reject  the  traveler's  commis- 
eration. Those  who  are  barefoot  would  tell  him 
that  they  enjoy  treading  the  earth  with  their  naked 
soles.  Most  of  the  girls  whom  we  met,  however, 
wear  bandages  of  white  linen  or  other  material 
wrapped  around  the  feet  and  wooden  sandals 
lightly  strapped  to  them.  This  arrangement  gives 
more  play  to  the  feet  than  the  stockings  and  shoes 
of  other  countries.  The  wearers  would  spurn  with 
contempt  the  tight  fits  and  high  heels  which  no 
fashionable  woman  of  the  period  could  do  without. 

The  Lakes  Lugano  and  Maggiore  are  less  pict- 
uresque and  interesting  than  Como.  The  tourist 
ought,  if  convenient,  to  reverse  the  circuit  we 
made.  Como  should  be  kept  for  the  last  if  possi- 
ble, since  all  the  rest  pale  in  comparison  with  it. 
But  each  of  the  other  lakes  has  its  separate  fasci- 


108  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

nation,  either  of  tint  or  of  surrounding  mountains, 
or  something  else.  For  example,  we  saw  on  Lake 
Lugano  no  less  than  four  cascades  of  great  height 
and  fullness.  They  looked  like  fresh  and  foaming 
milk  as  they  streamed  from  precipices  a  thousand 
feet  high.  Any  one  of  them  would  make  the  for- 
tune of  a  hotel-keeper  in  Switzerland,  where  such 
objects  are  greatly  in  favor ;  but  here  they  are 
too  common  to  excite  much  interest.  As  for  Lake 
Maggiore,  it  enjoys  the  distinction  of  being  larger 
than  any  other  of  the  group.  This  gives  space 
for  longer  steamboat  trips,  which  some  persons 
enjoy  greatly,  and  I  can  certify  to  the  pleasure  of 
them.  But  the  same  lake  surpasses  the  rest  in  the 
glory  of  the  snow  mountains,  which,  though  miles 
away,  seem  to  spring  out  of  its  depths.  These 
are  the  Simplon  and  its  spotless  associates.  They 
raise  their  sharp  crests  far  above  the  snow  -  line, 
and  show  great  masses  of  gleaming  white  on 
which  the  sun  has  yet  made  little  impression.  As 
we  entered  the  Bay  of  Pallanza,  the  haze  pre- 
vented our  seeing  the  lofty  range.  But  next  morn- 
ing, when  I  flung  open  the  shutters,  there  stood 
the  Simplon,  cleaving  the  sky  with  its  wedge. 
The  rays  from  the  east  struck  it  full  in  the  breast 
and  made  it  sparkle.  One  could  see  without  a 
glass  all  the  divisions  of  rock  and  snow  and  ice 
that  compose  its  towering  bulk.  Somewhere  be- 


NIGHTINGALES.  109 

yond  are  the  far  sublimer  Matterhorn,  Weisshorn, 
Monte  Rosa,  and  others.  But  they  are  not  needed 
to  enhance  the  picturesqueness  of  this  part  of  Mag- 
giore.  Simplon  and  his  companions  answer  the 
purpose  just  as  well. 

That  man  must  be  very  sleepy  who  would  com- 
plain of  "being  kept  awake  by  nightingales.  These 
birds  inhabit  the  thickets  around  my  hotel.  About 
eleven  o'clock,  the  first  night  of  our  arrival,  one  of 
them  awoke  me  from  a  sound  sleep.  A  window 
stood  ajar,  and  music  flooded  the  chamber.  The 
singer  was  a  soloist.  Not  a  sound  of  any  kind  inter- 
rupted his  performance.  Even  the  crickets  stopped 
to  listen.  Somebody  has  taken  the  trouble  to  jot 
down  every  note  and  trill  of  the  nightingale's  song. 
It  may  be  reproduced,  I  believe,  on  the  upper 
octaves  of  the  piano.  But  it  can  never  be  made 
to  sound  as  ravishing  as  the  "  wood-notes  wild " 
of  that  bird  in  those  bushes.  Perhaps  imagination 
has  something  to  do  with  the  effect.  Memory 
quickly  recalls  fugitive  scraps  of  poetry  about 
nightingales,  and  one  listens  to  them  the  more 
greedily.  Suddenly  the  music,  which  was  so  en- 
chanting, woke  echoes  far  and  near.  Other  night- 
ingales, as  if  accepting  a  challenge,  responded  to 
the  soloist.  It  was  too  much  of  a  good  thing. 
The  sweet  sounds  ran  together  and  became  con- 


1 10  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

fused.  What  had  been  perfect  as  an  air  was  dis- 
cord as  a  chorus.  In  the  midst  of  it  the  chief 
singer  ceased.  A  few  minutes  later,  and  all  was 
quiet. 

"  Napoleon  the  Great  slept  there,"  said  the 
guide,  pointing  to  an  alcove-bed  in  the  huge  cha- 
teau on  Isola  Bella.  There  was  room  enough  in  it 
for  six  little  corporals.  Fancy  the  conqueror 
curling  himself  up  into  a  ball  and  trying  to  hush 
to  sleep  the  ambitious  schemes  that  seethed  in  his 
brain!  Not  long  after  his  visit  at  Isola  Bella  he 
fought  the  battle  of  Marengo.  After  one  has  wan- 
dered through  the  labyrinth  of  rooms,  he  is  turned 
over  to  the  gardener.  This  man  takes  you  to  a 
little  gully  hard  by,  and  stops  before  an  enormous 
laurel-tree.  "  There,"  says  he,  "  Napoleon  cut  the 
word  battaglia  with  his  own  hand."  Still  fresh 
from  the  inspection  of  Napoleon's  bed,  one  gazes 
almost  with  awe  on  a  tree  which  he  actually 
gashed  in  a  moment  of  abstraction.  But  nothing 
can  be  seen.  The  liveliest  fancy  can  make  out 
nothing  more  than  worm-holes  in  the  bark.  The 
gardener  is  then  good  enough  to  explain  that  the 
highly  prized  inscription  rotted  away  years  ago. 
This  is  too  bad.  He  tries  to  make  up  for  the  loss 
by  showing  us  what  wonderful  things  the  beautiful 
island,  as  it  is  truly  called,  is  capable  of  producing. 


I  SOL  A  BELLA.  IH 

It  is  not  for  an  American  to  be  astonished  at 
anything  in  the  gardening  line.  So  I  suppressed 
any  surprise  I  might  have  felt  when  the  cork-tree, 
the  camphor-tree,  the  tea-plant,  and  bamboo  in 
every  variety,  growing  comfortably  side  by  side, 
were  shown  to  me.  It  was  a  happy  family,  whose 
members  had  been  brought  together  from  every 
zone  but  the  Arctic.  Perhaps  the  gardener  may 
have  easily  guessed  our  nationality ;  for  it  is  a  fact 
that  he  spoke  with  the  greatest  pride  of  all  the 
different  American  trees  in  the  collection.  To  re- 
sist such  delicate  flattery  was  impossible.  I  hope 
I  sustained  the  reputation  of  our  country  by  the 
size  of  the  pour  boire  which  he  received  as  we  left. 
The  Borromean  Islands,  of  which  Isola  Bella  is 
the  queen,  would  well  repay  one  for  a  visit  to 
Lago  Maggiore  if  there  were  no  other  attractions. 

The  most  illustrious  member  of  the  Borromean 
family  in  all  its  eventful  history — St.  Charles — has 
been  made  the  subject  of  a  colossal  statue.  It  was 
erected  about  two-  hundred  years  ago  at  Arona. 
Its  material  is  copper,  except  the  head,  hands,  and 
feet,  which  are  bronze.  Having  seen  Bartholdi's 
statue  of  Liberty  in  Paris,  in  1883,  I  was  impelled 
to  compare  it  with  this  old  giant.  Some  people  say 
that  Bartholdi's  masterpiece  will  easily  become  the 
prey  of  wind  and  weather — that  the  thin  copper 


112  ROUNDABOUT   TO  MOSCOW. 

sheets  of  which  it  is  made  will  not  last  long,  and 
that  the  first  stiff  gale  will  blow  it  down.  But  San 
Carlo  Borromeo  is  perpetuated  in  just  such  copper 
for  the  most  part.  That  metal  does  not  show  the 
least  trace  of  age,  save  that  it  has  become  of  a 
darker  and  richer  tint  with  time.  As  for  the 
wind,  there  could  be  no  worse  site  for  a  large 
statue  than  the  high  hill  north  of  Arona,  where 
the  gusts  are  frightful  at  times.  I  beg  to  cite  this 
towering  image — sixty-six  feet  high  and  surmount- 
ing a  pedestal  of  forty  feet — as  hopeful  evidence 
that  the  greater  achievement  of  Bartholdi  will  be 
seen  and- admired  in  its  perfection  centuries  hence. 
Art -critics,  in  their  off-hand,  dogmatic  way, 
call  the  statue  of  San  Carlo  "  worthless."  They 
say  that  the  hands — one  of  which  holds  a  book, 
while  the  other  gives  a  blessing — are  badly  man- 
aged, that  the  pose  of  the  figure  is  ungraceful,  and 
that  the  ears  are  too  big.  As  to  the  ears,  I  admit 
that  they  possibly  do  the  saint  much  injustice. 
They  seem  about  the  shape  and  size  of  meat-plat- 
ters. But  if  one's  attention  were  not  called  to 
them,  they  would  not  look  so  bad.  This  defect,  if 
such  it  is,  might  perhaps  be  remedied  by  turning 
the  unfortunate  ears  upside  down  or  back  side 
front.  All  the  rest  strikes  me  as  dignified  and 
effective  enough. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  SIMPLON  IN  JUNE — VISPACH  TO  ZERMATT — 
THE  MATTERHORN — A  FINE  VIEW  FROM  THE 
SNOWS  OF  GORNER-GRAT. 

CROSSING  from  Italy  to  Switzerland  by  the 
Simplon  Pass  early  in  June:  we  found  the  remains 
of  a  great  snow-drift  near  the  summit.  The  crest 
of  the  heap  rose  above  the  top  of  our  carriage. 
On  the  Italian,  or  south,  side  of  the  Alps  the 
weather  had  been  quite  warm  and  even  enervat- 
ing. Although  the  sky  was  overcast  and  rain  fell 
at  intervals,  I  became  unpleasantly  heated  when- 
ever I  walked,  to  ease  the  horses  and  pick  flowers. 
But  the  moment  we  began  to  descend  from  the 
extreme  height  of  about  6,500  feet,  a  cold  wind 
struck  us  in  front  and  flank.  Rugs  and  shawls 
which  had  been  carefully  strapped  up  were  un- 
bound and  put  to  use.  The  road  was  as  good  as 
when  Napoleon  made  it,  and  the  horses  were  fresh 
from  a  night's  rest  at  the  half-way  inn  of  Isella. 
The  carriage  rattled  down  the  steep  grade,  the 


II4  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

driver  cracking  his  whip  merrily,  and  making 
echoes  in  the  deep  and  narrow  gorges.  We  knew 
that  a  few  hours  of  this  pace  would  bring  us  to 
Brieg  and  warmth.  I  never  before  realized  the 
full  difference  between  a  northern  and  a  southern 
aspect.  As  we  made  the  gradual  ascent  from 
Domo  d'Ossola,  snow  had  been  occasionally  seen, 
but  always  far  above  us.  It  filled  crevices  at  the 
height  of  7,000  feet,  or  crowned  the  very  peaks. 
But  when  we  had  passed  the  little  village  o-f  Sim- 
plon  and  neared  the  Hospice,  there  was  snow  in 
patches  far  below  us.  And  from  the  road  upward 
it  still  covered  large  tracts,  and  at  times  threat- 
ened avalanches.  These,  however,  are  of  rare  oc- 
currence on  the  Simplon  in  the  first  half  of  June 
Rude  crosses  mark  the  spots  where  travelers  had 
been  swept  into  the  profound  gulf  which  yawned 
on  our  left.  At  one  place,  the  driver  said,  four 
men  had  been  carried  to  that  awful  but  immediate 
death.  An  enduring  crucifix  of  bronze  had  been 
firmly  set  in  a  stone  socket,  just  where  they  were 
overtaken.  This  is  the  part  of  the  road  where 
so  many  "  refuges "  have  been  provided.  Those 
places  of  shelter,  as  well  as  the  more  comfortable 
Hospice,  have  saved  the  lives  of  many  persons 
crossing  the  pass  in  the  fall,  winter,  and  spring. 
The  tourmente,  or  whirlwind  of  snow,  is  a  cause  of 
more  deaths  than  avalanches  in  the  high  Alps. 


THE  SIMPLON  IN  JUNE.  115 

It  is  bitterly  cold  and  blinding,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes raises  mounds  of  snow  through  which  horses 
and  men  can  hardly  make  their  way.  We  were 
glad  to  know  that  the  icy  plague  was  out  of  season 
at  the  time  of  our  crossing. 

The  waterfalls — among  the  greatest  charms  of 
the  Simplon  Pass — were  at  their  best.  The  rains 
had  been  heavy  for  some  days,  and  the  sun  was 
melting  the  snow  in  all  but  its  highest  lodgments. 
The  white  peaks  of  mountains,  ranging  from  9,000 
to  11,000  feet  above  the  sea,  were  sublime  and 
beautiful.  One  never  tires  of  gazing  at  them  and 
using  some  more  familiar  mountain  at  home  as 
a  sort  of  measuring-scale  in  order  to  form  a  bet- 
ter idea  of  their  height.  Americans  are  in  the 
habit  of  recalling  their  impressions  of  Washington, 
Mansfield,  Graylock,  or  the  Catskills  for  this  pur- 
pose. In  the  Alps,  however,  this  plan  does  not 
help  us  much.  For  some  of  the  most  majestic  of 
the  range  have  their  bases  at  a  height  of  5,000 
feet  to  begin  with,  and  never  seem  to  be  as  high 
by  several  thousand  feet  as  they  really  are.  A 
mountain  of  much  less  stature  would  look  just  as 
lofty  springing  from  a  foundation  nearer  the  sea- 
level.  I  soon  gave  up  Washington,  Moosilauke, 
and  the  rest,  and  began  employing  Trinity  Church 
steeple  and  the  Produce  Exchange  tower  as  wands 
of  memory  in  trying  to  measure  Monte  Leone  and 


Il6  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

the  Aletschhorn.     The  system  was  amusing  if  not 
satisfactory. 

But  when  no  lofty  mountains  are  in  sight  then 
one's  spirit  is  refreshed  by  the  waterfalls.  I  never 
before  conceived  of  the  widely  different  forms 
which  falling  water  could  assume.  We  passed  hun- 
dreds of  cascades  between  Domo  d'Ossola  and 
Brieg,  and  no  two  were  alike.  They  resembled 
each  other  as  little  in  shape  as  in  size.  Some  were 
simple  mill-streams.  They  came  rushing  down  the 
mountains  in  great  volume  to  turn  wheels.  But 
they  found  no  corn  to  grind  or  logs  to  saw.  They 
were  only  conducted  off  through  culverts  beneath 
the  road-bed,  where  they  could  do  neither  harm 
nor  good.  What  might  be  called  lace-patterns 
were  innumerable.  They  were  flat  waterfalls,  thin 
and  very  wide,  slipping  gently  over  smooth  rocks 
of  easy  slopes.  Wavy  bands  of  lines  made  the 
breadth  of  these  falls  look  in  the  distance  exactly 
like  snow-white  lace.  Bridal  veils  of  the  most  ex- 
quisite texture  were  common.  Some  kept  their 
symmetry  in  leaps  of  at  least  five  hundred  feet. 
There  were  falls  which  reminded  one  of  the  drop- 
ping of  brilliants  from  fireworks  high  in  the  air. 
Each  flashing  wavelet  seemed  to  preserve  its  unity 
as  it  fell  over  the  precipice,  and  to  come  down 
slowly  till  broken  up  by  some  jutting  rock  below. 
A  fall  that  always  pleased  us  dissipated  itself 


THE  SIMPLON  IN  JUNE.  uj 

in  a  transparent  vapor,  and  sparkled  in  the  sun- 
shine like  a  cascade  of  diamonds.  This  is  the  sort 
of  fall  that  Swiss  innkeepers  are  said  to  manufact- 
ure in  the  dry  season.  It  only  needs  a  small  boy 
with  a  few  pails  of  water.  He  is  out  of  sight  on 
the  heights,  and  turns  on  the  fall  when  he  sees  a 
carriage  coming  through  the  pass.  There  were 
too  many  fells  of  this  kind  to  make  us  question 
their  genuineness.  Another  style  that  never  tired 
came  down  in  numerous  short  leaps.  The  effect 
was  that  of  stairs  made  of  silver.  Sometimes  they 
were  solid — as  one  might  say — and  made  so  little 
spray  that  they  seemed  to  be  shining  steps  leading 
from  the  gloomy  depths  of  the  ravine  to  the  white 
and  serene  land  above. 

We  used  up  the  best  part  of  two  days  traveling 
from  Pallanza  (on  the  Lago  Maggiore),  Italy,  to 
Brieg,  Switzerland,  which  is  the  upper  end  of  the 
Simplon  road,  and  would  not  have  abridged  the 
journey  by  a  single  hour.  It  is  delightful  and  ex- 
hilarating to  every  lover  of  Nature — in  fine  weath- 
er. Few  persons  who  seek  the  Alps  for  health 
and  pleasure  will  be  sorry  to  learn  that  the  pro- 
posed tunnel  of  the  Simplon  is  likely  to  remain  a 
dream  many  years  longer.  In  a  shed  of  the  little 
auberge  at  Isella  may  be  seen  a  boring-machine 
which  has  been  tried  on  the  Italian  side  and  laid 
up  for  want  of  funds.  The  tunnel  would  be  about 


H8  ROUNDABOUT   TO  MOSCOW. 

twelve  miles  long,  and  nobody  knows  how  much 
it  would  cost.  And  nobody  in  Italy,  at  least, 
seems  to  care.  The  scheme  is  of  French  origin, 
though  the  Swiss  are  very  friendly  to  it,  and  its 
projectors  have  hoped  that  Switzerland  would  sub- 
scribe liberally  toward  its  execution.  But,  at  pres- 
ent, there  is  little  prospect  that  help  will  come 
from  that  quarter  or  any  other.  Admirers  of  the 
picturesque  who  do  not  want  to  see  the  noble 
Simplon  road  discarded  will  not,  however,  object 
to  the  construction  of  a  narrow-gauge  railway 
between  Domo  d'Ossola  and  the  Italian  lakes. 
This  would  save  them  the  delay  and  expense  of  a 
carriage-ride  of  four  or  five  hours  through  a  some- 
what monotonous  country.  I  can  testify  to  the 
solidity  of  the  road-bed  as  far  as  built.  The  bridges 
are  particularly  strong.  Work  is  now  suspended 
on  this  enterprise,  also  for  lack  of  money,  and  the 
natives  told  me  that  they  did  not  expect  to  see  it 
in  operation  under  four  years — if  ever. 

At  Brieg  we  took  carriage  for  Vispach,  though 
the  railway  from  the  former  place  connects  the 
two  villages  and  continues  on  to  Geneva.  Vis- 
pach is  the  only  point  of  departure  for  the  Zer- 
matt  country,  where  the  Matterhorn  reigns  su- 
preme. Thousands  of  persons  —  mostly  Alpine 
climbers — visit  Zermatt  in  July  and  August.  It  is 
strange,  therefore,  that  for  half  the  way  there  is  no 


VISPACH  TO  ZERMATT. 

carriage-road  where  one  could  be  made  at  moder- 
ate cost  merely  by  widening  the  present  bridle- 
path. As  a  \valk,  the  distance  is  a  good  nine  hours, 
and  is  readily  taken  by  many  English  men  and 
women.  But  people  like  ourselves,  not  used  to 
such  performances,  are  glad  to  mount  horses,  or,  if 
timid  or  not  strong,  prefer  to  be  borne  on  the  chair 
with  poles  (which  one  sees  everywhere  in  these 
mountains)  by  the  strong  hands  of  two  young 
Swiss  giants,  with  two  others  to  "  spell "  them  and 
carry  the  "  traps."  Light-weight  ladies  are  greatly 
in  favor  with  these  porters.  They  trot  off  with 
their  little  burden  at  a  rate  which  soon  distances 
my  horse.  It  is  fun  to  notice  that  sometimes  they 
pretend  to  find  the  load  heavy  and  slacken  their 
gait,  as  if  fatigued.  The  object  of  this  artifice  is 
to  justify  the  employment  of  the  second  pair  of 
giants,  one  of  whom  has  a  bundle  of  umbrellas  and 
the  other  a  small  black  hand-bag,  which  is  popu- 
larly supposed  to  be  full  of  money,  but  in  fact  con- 
tains only  bottles.  The  horse  is  led  by  a  fifth  man, 
not,  I  flatter  myself,  because  the  rider  does  not 
know  how  to  ride,  but  in  order  to  make  number 
five  seem  indispensable.  This  man  carries  a  small 
package  of  shawls.  It  is  the  poor  horse  that  does 
most  of  the  real  work  and  receives  no  pour  boire. 
For,  besides  the  person  on  his  back,  he  bears  the 
only  piece  of  baggage  worth  mentioning.  This  is 


120  ROUNDABOUT   TO  MOSCOW. 

a  leather  valise  of  modest  dimensions.  Wise  peo 
pie  who  go  to  Zermatt  get  themselves  up  in  light 
marching  order,  leaving  their  trunks  behind  to  be 
picked  up  on  their  return.  For  you  are  obliged 
to  come  out  of  the  Visp  Valley  the  same  way  you 
go  in,  unless  you  cross  into  Italy  on  foot  over  a 
glacier  about  two  miles  high,  which  we  do  not 
propose  to  do. 

If  one  were  not  looking  so  sharply  after  his 
horse  and  his  scattered  property,  and  keeping  the 
little  procession  on  the  go  in  order  to  lose  no  time, 
he  would  enjoy  the  scenery  between  Vispach  and 
St.  Niklaus  more  than  he  does.  It  is  always  wild 
and  in  places  is  magnificent.  On  both  sides  of  the 
valley  are  crags  of  great  height  and  occasionally  a 
snow-tipped  peak.  Sometimes  we  rise  far  above 
the  river  Visp,  and  then  again  descend  to  its  level. 
We  are  always  within  hearing  distance  of  its  deep 
gurgle.  On  the  whole,  it  was  a  relief  to  change  off 
for  a  rough  mountain-wagon  at  St.  Niklaus  and  do 
the  rest  of  the  way  with  no  attendant  but  the 
driver.  Rain  came  on  about  that  time,  and  we  lost 
some  of  the  finest  views  to  be  had  before  reaching 
Zermatt.  But  we  did  see  the  enormous  blocks  of 
stone  which  were  shaken  down  by  the  earthquake 
of  1885  and  rolled  to  the  middle  of  the  valley. 
The  force  required  to  detach  these  masses  from 
their  everlasting  foundations  is  comprehensible. 


THE  MATTERHORN.  121 

But  it  is  not  so  easy  to  believe  that  an  immense 
section  of  the  Bies  glacier  which  overhangs  the 
village  of  Randa,  slipped  with  such  initial  velocity 
as  to  clear  that  hamlet  completely  and  fall  on  the 
other  side.  The  story  goes  that,  although  this 
monstrous  ice-ca^e  missed  the  village,  the  wind  of 
it  blew  down  all  the  houses  !  But  we  prefer  to  ac- 
cept all  the  astonishing  statements  about  glaciers, 
and  thereby  heighten  our  enjoyment  of  those  re- 
markable objects. 

At  half-past  five  the  next  morning,  I  obtained 
my  first  and  best  view  of  the  sublime  Matterhorn 
from  a  chamber  of  the  Hotel  du  Mont  Rose.  It 
was  like  an  instantaneous  photograph.  Perhaps 
not  a  second  elapsed  before  a  drifting  cloud  cov- 
ered the  summit.  But  in  that  fleeting  moment 
the  view  was  complete.  In  the  pure  air  of  Zer- 
matt  (itself  5,300  feet  high)  the  stars  shine  with  an 
intensity  unknown  to  lower  regions,  and  mountains 
which  are  miles  away  seem  to  overhang  the  village. 
The  height  of  the  Matterhorn  is  about  14,700  feet. 
This,  great  as  it  is,  would  not  count  for  so  much 
but  for  the  peculiar  shape  of  the  peak.  As  seen 
from  Zermatt  it  presents  two  sides  of  a  pyramid  of 
solid  rock.  These  rise  at  very  sharp  angles  from  a 
slender  base  and  terminate  in  the  form  of  a  tusk, 
which  actually  curves  at  the  top.  It  recalls  to  mind 
a  walrus-tooth  or  the  horn  of  a  rhinoceros.  A 


122  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

slight  coating  of  snow  mantles  only  a  part  of  this 
rockiest  of  mountains.  Nothing  could  seem  more 
difficult  than  the  ascent  of  the  Matterhorn.  As 
one  looks  at  it  the  wonder  grows  that  the  little 
churchyard  of  the  hamlet,  which  holds  the  bodies 
of  the  three  who  paid  with  their  lives  for  the  honor 
of  "  conquering  "  it  twenty  years  ago,  is  not  filled 
with  victims  of  the  same  ambition.  In  the  precious 
moment  of  my  observation  I  mark  the  route  by 
which  those  daring  men  made  their  ascent.  There 
is  the  "  shoulder  "  which  they  passed  triumphantly. 
There  is  the  steepest  of  slopes  up  which  they  were 
the  pioneers.  There  is  the  precipice  of  4,000  feet 
down  which  four  of  the  party  slipped  as  they 
were  returning  from  their  victory.  And,  some- 
where down  there  among  the  eternal  snow,  per- 
haps in  the  fathomless  crevasse  of  a  glacier,  is 
still  buried  the  body  of  Lord  Douglas,  one  of  the 
most  intrepid  members  of  the  expedition.  But, 
while  I  am  making  out  these  points  of  interest,  a 
cloud  eclipses  all.  I  had  seen  just  enough  of  the 
obstacles  of  the  Matterhorn  to  increase  my  amaze- 
ment at  the  well-known  fact  that  it  is  often  as- 
cended with  safety  now-a-days.  It  should  be  re- 
membered that  ropes  have  been  securely  fastened 
to  the  sides  of  the  mountain  in  the  worst  places, 
and  render  the  task  less  difficult  than  formerly. 
There  are  guides  standing  in  the  street  in  front  of 


THE  MATTERHORN. 


123 


the  Hotel  du  Mont  Rose  who  would  conduct  you 
to  the  top  of  the  Matterhorn  and  bring  you  back 
alive  for  a  moderate  sum.  But  they  would  not 
start  to-day  or  to-morrow.  They  would  wait  until 
July,  when  the  snow  had  melted  and  left  the  lower 
part  of  the  mountain  bare.  Even  now,  however, 
an  offer  large  enough  will  procure  the  attempt— 
and  probably  a  successful  one — to  accomplish  this 
greatest  of  Alpine  feats. 

One  day  I  happened  to  meet  in  a  shop  a  vet- 
eran guide  who  had  retired  from  the  business  on 
his  fees  and  laurels.  The  old  fellow  had  just  dined 
freely,  and  was  feeling  well.  Knowing  who  he 
was,  I  playfully  asked  him  if  he  would  take  me  up 
the  Matterhorn  and  plant  the  American  flag  on 
the  top  for  1,000  francs?  My  manner  should 
have  showed  that  I  was  joking.  The  aged  guide, 
entering  into  the  humor  of  the  thing,  as  I  sup- 
posed, said  he  would  think  about  it  and  let  me 
know.  Sure  enough,  that  very  night,  he  hunted 
me  up  and  said  he  was  ready  to  start  the  next  day, 
if  required,  on  the  terms  mentioned.  He  seemed 
very  much  disappointed  when  I  told  him  I  was 
only  "  in  fun."  Since  then  I  am  aware  that  all  the 
guides  in  the  street  are  watching  me  anxiously. 
They  hope  that  I  may  prove  the  first  candidate  for 
their  services  on  the  Matterhorn  this  season.  Last 
year  they  assisted  more  than  twenty  persons  up 


124  ROUNDABOUT   TO  MOSCOW. 

and  down  that  terrible  rock  without  a  single  acci- 
dent. August  is  the  best  month  for  the  ascents. 
Taking  advantage  of  a  fine  morning,  I  started 
off  with  a  trusty  guide,  and  in  about  five  hours 
gained  a  height  of  nearly  10,000  feet.  Our  route 
was  by  a  bridle-path  up  to  the  Riffelberg,  where 
there  is  a  summer  hotel  8,430  feet  above  the  sea. 
This  establishment  was  tenantless  at  the  time  of  our 
visit.  It  is  not  usually  open  before  July.  Leaving 
the  horse  there,  the  guide  and  myself  proceeded  on 
foot.  At  first  snow-patches  alternated  with  naked 
rocks,  but  presently  we  struck  a  continuous  de- 
posit of  snow,  which  gradually  increased  in  depth 
from  three  to  six  and  eight  feet.  Fortunately  for 
us,  Mr.  Seiler,  the  energetic  proprietor  of  all  the 
hotels  in  and  about  Zermatt — five  in  number — had 
that  very  day  directed  his  men  to  break  a  path 
through  this  immense  snow-field.  We  reaped  the 
benefit  of  their  work,  and  in  fact  followed  on  their 
heels.  At  noon  we  had  reached  a  point  on  the 
Gorner  Grat  which  commanded  all  the  mountains 
and  glaciers  I  desired  to  see ;  and,  as  the  sun  was 
fast  softening  the  snow  and  making  our  task  more 
arduous,  we  rested.  At  that  elevation  we  had  fine 
views  of  the  Weisshorn,  the  Rothhorn,  Monte 
Rosa  (15,217  feet,  and  next  in  height  to  Mont 
Blanc),  the  Lyskamm,  Castor  and  Pollux,  the  Dent 
Blanc,  and  nearly  all  the  Alpine  monsters  of  this 


SNOWS  OF  GORNER-GRAT.  125 

region  except  the  Matterhorn — coyest  of  the  fam- 
ily. Five  or  six  glaciers  could  be  distinctly  seen 
for  the  greater  part  of  their  length  and  breadth. 
While  feasting  on  this  incomparable  scene  of  icy 
magnificence  drops  of  rain  began  to  fall,  the  ma- 
jestic outlines  of  Monte  Rosa  vanished  in  a  cloud, 
the  whole  prospect  became  blurred,  and,  most  re- 
luctantly, I  decided  to  return  to  Zermatt.  But, 
that  nothing  might  be  wanting  to  make  the  excur- 
sion prosperous,  we  were,  on  the  way,  favored 
with  a  view  of  the  Matterhorn  only  a  shade  less 
admirable  than  the  one  I  have  already  described. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

EARLY  ALPINE  FLOWERS — A  WEDDING  -  FEAST — THE 
RHONE  VALLEY  AND   GLACIER — FURCA   PASS. 

WHAT  do  you  say  to  meadows  so  thickly  set 
with  forget-me-nots  that  they  are  unbroken  stretch- 
es of  blue?  If  pieces  of  the  sky  had  dropped  on 
the  grass,  the  effect  would  have  been  about  the 
same  as  that  which  we  saw  often  repeated  in  the 
valley  of  the  Rhone.  The  shade  was  the  faintest 
of  the  many  blue  tints  that  one  sees  in  Alpine 
fields.  The  corn-flower  grows  rank  in  June,  but  is 
not  coupled  with  the  flaming  poppy  as  often  as  in 
some  other  countries  of  Europe.  In  the  upper 
pastures  are  two  species  of  flowers — each  as  blue 
as  a  perfect  sapphire.  Both  grow  close  to  the 
ground.  One  is  small  and  star-like.  The  other  is 
bell-shaped  and  slender.  I  have  picked  it  at  a 
height  of  7,000  feet.  The  yellows  are  in  great 
force.  Dandelions  and  buttercups  everywhere  re- 
mind the  American  tourist  of  home.  There  is  a 
large,  graceful  anemone  of  a  yellow  so  delicate  as 


EARL  Y  ALPINE  FLO  WERS. 


127 


to  be  almost  white.  If  it  does  not  thrust  its  exqui- 
site head  through  the  snow,  it  follows  hard  upon 
the  disappearance  of  the  icy  mantle.  A  flower  of 
the  kind  we  call  "  ladies'  delight " — of  a  pure  lemon- 
color — is  profusely  distributed.  In  some  parts  of 
Switzerland  one  comes  upon  fields  all  ablaze  with 
buttons  of  gold.  I  give  the  English  equivalent  of 
the  French  and  German  names  by  which  this 
showy  flower  is  commonly  known  here.  And  the 
reds  of  various  depths  are  only  less  abundant  than 
the  yellows.  Of  these  the  Alpine  rose — as  it  is 
just  breaking  into  blossom  this  month — is  most 
captivating.  The  bud,  as  it  begins  to  open,  looks 
like  a  cutting  of  coral.  Daisies  supply  the  white 
to  this  wonderful  enameling  of  Nature.  Or,  shall 
I  say  that  it  is  a  carpet  so  deftly  woven  as  to 
defy  the  imitation  of  its  combined  hues  in  any 
piece  of  mortal  handiwork  ?  "  You  could  not  see 
the  grass  for  flowers."  This  extravagance  of  the 
poet  does  not  overstate  the  floral  wealth  of  some 
of  the  fields  that  border  the  Rhone  between  Brieg 
and  Viesch.  Stay !  I  must  not  omit  to  mention 
some  wild  violets  of  extraordinary  size  and  beau- 
ty. These  I  found  in  only  one  place — far  above 
the  Rhdne  glacier  —  and  earned  their  possession 
by  a  hot  scramble  up  a  very  steep  hill  while  the 
carriage  was  taking  its  long  and  zigzag  way 
round. 


128  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

At  Viesch  we  came  upon  a  scene  that  is  inter- 
esting everywhere — a  wedding-feast.  As  the  car- 
riage rolled  through  the  narrow  street  of  the  lit- 
tle village,  the  driver  fired  a  volley  of  shots  from 
the  end  of  his  whip.  He  was  a  fine  fellow,  and 
wore,  as  a  badge  of  his  calling,  a  dashing  green 
hat  with  a  blackcock's  feather  stuck  in  the  band. 
There  were  three  spirited  horses,  their  necks  en- 
circled with  bells  which  jingled  musically.  We 
were  conscious  of"  producing  an  effect  as  we  rat- 
tled up  to  the  door  of  the  only  inn,  but  were 
hardly  prepared  for  the  reception  which  seemed 
to  await  us.  There  stood  not  only  the  landlord 
and  his  staff  of  attendants,  but  a  large  number  of 
men  and  women,  evidently  dressed  in  "  their  best." 
They  all  stepped  forward  as  if  to  welcome  us,  and 
at  the  same  time  a  brass  band  inside  of  the  house 
struck  up  a  joyous  air.  The  situation*  was  really 
embarrassing ;  and  we  were  relieved  when  we  dis- 
covered that  this  effusive  reception  was  intended 
not  for  ourselves,  but  for  some  other  people  who 
were  very  much  expected.  The  faces  of  the  by- 
standers lengthened  when  they  saw  that  we  were 
not  the  persons  so  anxiously  looked  for.  All  but 
the  landlord  and  his  immediate  aids  went  back 
into  the  house,  and  our  reception  became  not  more 
marked  than  that  of  all  other  travelers  alighting 
at  these-  hospitable  shelters  for  man  and  beast. 


A    WEDDING  FEAST.  129 

Then  we  learned  that  we  had  innocently  inter- 
rupted the  tranquil  flow  of  a  wedding-breakfast — 
having  been  mistaken  for  some  belated  guests  of 
great  importance.  The  bridegroom  was  the  land- 
lord himself.  He  looked  radiant  with  happiness. 
The  bride,  whom  we  saw  later  on,  was  a  buxom 
lass,  attired  not  in  the  high-colored  and  fanciful 
Swiss  costume  of  which  one  reads  in  books.  Her 
dress,  if  not  a  creation  of  the  great  Worth  himself, 
was  irreproachable  in  its  Frenchiness.  And  there 
was  not  a  single  sign  of  Swiss  nationality  in  the 
garb  of  any  man  or  woman  present.  This  was  dis- 
appointing. But  then  the  wedding-party  was  com- 
posed of  the  richer  and  "  upper  "  classes  of  Viesch 
and  the  neighborhood — of  twenty  miles  round. 

The  landlord,  in  the  fullness  of  his  heart,  had 
spared  no  expense.  In  the  dining-room  were  two 
long  tables,  from  which  a  hundred  guests  were 
just  rising  as  I  peeped  into  it.  Long  rows  of  bot- 
tles, conscientiously  drained  to  the  last  drop,  were 
the  principal  objects  in  sight,  save  some  Cupids 
in  sugar  which  the  knives  of  the  banqueters  had 
spared.  As  fast  as  the  guests  vacated  the  room 
they  began  dancing  in  couples.  Up  and  down  the 
hallways  they  went,  waltzing  furiously,  while  the 
band  of  twelve  brass  pieces  played  selections  from 
Strauss.  Every  player  had  before  him  a  bottle, 
which  was  replenished  by  an  attentive  waiter  as 


130 


ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 


fast  as  emptied.  I  never  before  realized  the  enor- 
mous cubic  capacity  of  a  brass  band !  While  we 
were  gazing  on  this  mirthful  scene,  loud  cracks 
of  a  whip  were  heard,  and  up  came  the  delayed 
guests  for  whom  we  had  been  mistaken.  There 
was  another  rush  to  the  door,  followed  by  a  storm 
of  shouts  and  kisses.  The  new-comers  entered  the 
house  in  a  whirlwind  of  excitement.  Without 
even  stopping  to  doff  their  overcoats  and  cloaks, 
they  plunged  into  the  mazes  of  the  waltz.  A  few 
minutes  later  the  dining-room  had  been  cleared  of 
all  obstructions,  and  the  dancing  then  set  in  with 
an  earnestness  that  would  shame  the  languid  beaux 
and  belles  of  a  New  York  ball.  We  reluctantly 
left  the  festivities  at  their  height,  and  resumed  the 
journey  to  Miinster,  where  we  purposed  spending 
the  night. 

At  the  little  inn  of  Miinster  we  were  received 
by  a  woman  who  had  a  handkerchief  tied  about 
her  face,  and  looked  tired  out.  She  did  not  seem 
to  care  whether  we  stopped  there  or  not.  The 
house  was  in  a  state  of  fresh  paint  and  repair,  and 
the  prospect  for  the  night  was  not  inviting.  We 
were  shown  into  a  chamber  which  had  neither  car- 
pet nor  rug  upon  the  floor.  But  that  floor  was 
scrupulously  clean.  The  sheets  on  the  beds  were 
coarse,  t>ut  they  smelled  of  lavender.  Everything 
was  cheap  but  reassuringly  neat.  When  the  din- 


A  SNUG  LITTLE  INN.  131 

ner  was  served  —  at  the  exact  minute  ordered  — 
we  could  easily  have  criticised  the  crockery.  But 
the  plates  were  hot,  as  well  as  the  soup,  the  fillet 
of  beef  and  chicken  tender  and  cooked  to  a  turn, 
the  pudding  and  cake  nice,  and  the  Swiss  Muscat 
as  delicate  of  flavor  as  it  should  be.  After  dinner 
a  roaring  fire  in  a  wide-throated  chimney  and  an 
Argand  lamp  burning  on  the  table  of  this  same 
room  made  the  place  far  more  comfortable  and 
home-like  than  are  many  of  the  "  Grand  Hotels " 
of  which  Europe  is  full.  A  good  night's  rest  and 
a  capital  breakfast  completed  the  recommendations 
of  this  humble  inn  to  the  traveler's  confidence  and 
patronage.  Its  substance  is  in  inverse  ratio  to  its 
show.  Besides  all  else,  its  windows  on  the  west 
command  in  clear  weather  perfect  views  of  the 
Weisshorn.  This  is  about  14,800  feet  high,  and  is 
the  greatest  object  of  interest  in  the  Rh6ne  Valley. 
As  one  toils  up  the  ascent,  he  keeps  the  splendid 
white  peak  in  sight  mile  after  mile.  He  admires 
it  from  several  view-points,  but  it  never  shows  up 
to  better  advantage  than  when  seen  on  a  fine  day 
from  the  elevation  of  Minister. 

When  you  have  been  following  up  a  river  for 
two  days,  and  seen  it  dwindle  as  you  rise  above 
the  junction  of  one  tributary  brook  after  another, 
it  is  a  great  satisfaction  to  trace  that  river  to  its 
source.  In  its  narrowest  part  the  Rhdne  is  a  pow- 


132  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

erful  stream.  Its  turbid  waters  rush  along  with  a 
noise  of  thunder.  They  have  cut  in  places  a  deep 
gorge,  the  bottom  of  which  is  far  out  of  sight  of 
the  road.  They  have  polished  all  the  stones  in 
their  path  into  a  general  condition  of  smoothness. 
Nowhere  is  the  erosive  action  of  water  more  strik- 
ingly shown.  When  you  stand  at  the  foot  of  a  stu- 
pendous glacier  and  see  the  beginning  of  this  bois- 
terous river,  you  no  longer  wonder  at  its  youthful 
vigor.  There  is  a  great,  dark  cavern  in  the  side 
of  the  glacier.  It  is  now  of  a  triangular  shape. 
From  this  opening  the  Rhone  issues  with  a  fierce 
bound,  as  if  straining  to  be  free.  Looking  into  the 
hole,  you  can  see  nothing  beyond  a  distance  of 
twenty  feet.  But  you  can  hear  the  young  torrent, 
as  it  tears  its  way  down  to  the  light,  far  back  in 
the  bowels  of  the  ice-mountains. 

Scientific  observers  have  placed  rows  of  stones 
painted  black,  in  the  valley  just  below  the  glacier, 
to  show  how  much  it  is  receding  year  by  year.  It 
is  also  shrinking  in  breadth,  as  you  find  out  for 
yourself  when  you  notice  the  old  lateral  moraines, 
or  deposits  of  earth  and  stones,  on  the  two  sides 
of  the  slowly  moving  mass.  These  are  many 
feet  higher  on  the  flanks  of  the  channel  than  the 
mounds  of  the  same  kind  which  are  now  accumu- 
lating. Nevertheless,  as  you  look  up  at  an  angle 
of  about  45°  and  see  this  glacier  rise  for  a  mile  or 


Mrs.  U.  F.  del  Vafle 

C*M«IOS  MUCH,  PJBU,  CALIFOMJ,. 
FURCA  PASS.  133 

so  until  its  tooth-like  seracs  stand  out  against  the 
blue  sky,  you  feel  that  the  Rhone  will  not  dry  up 
at  its  fountain-head  for  many  a  year  to  come.  This 
conviction  is  deepened  as  your  horses  struggle 
up  the  scientifically  perfect  road  which  takes  you 
across  the  Furca.  You  keep  the  glacier  under  ob- 
servation for  more  than  an  hour  as  you  rise  to  the 
height  where  it  bends  and  is  lost  in  the  recesses  of 
the  parent  snow-field.  You  understand  how  fright- 
ful a  thing  is  a  crevasse,  when  you  look  down  into 
one  and  discover  that  what  seemed  from  below 
only  a  little  rift,  is  a  yawning  gulf  in  which  your 
coach  and  horses  might  sink  to  perdition  without 
touching  its  sides.  Individual  seracs  loom  up  from 
thirty  to  fifty  feet  high.  And  behind  this  awful 
fringe  of  ice  you  see  a  snow-slope  (»/z>/)  of  thou- 
sands of  acres  stretching  far  back  to  the  base  of  a 
mountain  which  is  itself  crowned  with  a  hoary 
burden.  And  then,  if  not  before,  you  discover  that 
the  mighty  Rhdne  glacier  is  but  the  protruding 
tongue  (which  it  resembles  in  outline)  of  a  body  of 
snow  and  ice  whose  duration  will  outlast  the  arith- 
metic of  puny  men. 

On  the  Furca  Pass  the  snow  is  not  deeper  than 
on  the  Simplon,  but  there  is  more  of  it.  Snow- 
banks higher  than  the  driver's  head  line  one  side 
of  the  road  at  intervals  for  distances  of  a  thousand 
feet.  On  the  other  side  they  had  been  in  part 


134  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

pitched  down  the  slope  by  the  laborers  who  are 
always  on  hand.  The  summit  is  nearly  8,000  feet 
above  the  sea.  As  we  climbed  to  it  the  horizon 
widened  to  the  west  and  opened  up  a  glorious  view 
of  Monte  Rosa.  As  seen  from  the  Furca  Pass,  this 
nearest  rival  of  Mont  Blanc  looks  like  a  pyramid 
— showing  but  a  single  peak  in  place  of  the  two 
or  three  crests  which  I  had  made  out  as  I  looked 
across  the  long  level  of  untrodden  snow  on  the 
Gorner  Grat.  Thus  it  is  that  mountains,  like  ev- 
erything else,  look  differently  when  viewed  from 
different  standpoints.  The  Matterhorn  could  bare- 
ly be  distinguished  by  reason  of  a  haze  in  its  vicin- 
ity. The  Weisshorn  and  other  nearer  mountains 
had  been  so  long  in  sight  that  we  were  glutted 
with  them.  It  was  the  unseen  which  we  longed  to 
see.  And  when,  as  our  team  pulled  up  at  the  door 
of  the  Furca  Inn,  and  we  found  that  the  great 
Finsteraarhorn  of  the  Bernese  group  was  not  visi- 
ble from  that  point,  nothing  we  had  seen  before 
made  up  for  the  disappointment.  I  fear  that  this  is 
only  base  ingratitude ;  for  the  day  was  an  uncom- 
monly good  one  for  June  I5th,  and  unmixed  thank- 
fulness should  have  been  the  only  sentiment. 

The  Furca  Inn  enjoys  the  distinction  of  having 
been  the  home  of  Queen  Victoria  for  three  days 
in  August,  1868.  As  Americans  would  say,  she 
"ran  the  concern."  The  house  was  hired  for  her 


FURCA  PASS.  135 

exclusive  use.  The  royal  bed,  cooking-utensils,  and 
all  the  domestic  belongings  were  brought  on  from 
England.  So  were  the  doctor,  the  cook,  the  gillie, 
and  even  the  humblest  but  still  useful  members  of 
the  Queen's  household.  In  the  dining-room  hangs 
a  framed  list  of  the  names  of  the  whole  party, 
save  the  Queen,  whose  photograph  surmounts  it. 
Among  the  autographs  is  that  of  John  Brown. 
The  proprietor  exhibits  with  pride  the  little  room 
in  which  Her  Majesty  slept.  Whether  the  charges 
are  higher  in  consequence,  the  present  writer  can 
not  say,  as  he  came  and  went  with  a  rapidity  quite 
unpleasing  to  the  landlord. 

From  the  summit  of  the  Furca  Pass  down  to 
Andermatt  the  ride  would  be  prodigiously  interest- 
ing if  one  were  not  satiated  with  the  sights  on  the 
western  ascent. 

After  a  night  at  Andermatt  the  journey  was  re- 
sumed by  carriage  to  Fluelen  and  then  by  boat  to 
Lucerne.  Of  the  scenery  along  that  part  of  the 
route — savage  and  tame,  gloomy  and  bright,  by 
turns — one  could  write  more  enthusiastically  if  his 
impressions  of  the  Furca  were  not  still  fresh. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

AVALANCHES    ON     THE   JUNGFRAU — THE   GUIDES   OF 
GRINDELWALD. 

THE  avalanche  about  to  be  described  started 
just  below  the  peak  of  the  Silberhorn,  a  few  min- 
utes before  midday.  At  that  hour  the  sun  was  be- 
ginning to  make  his  rays  felt  in  the  frozen  bosom 
of  the  Jungfrau.  The  Silberhorn  is  the  showiest 
ornament  of  that  most  bewitching  of  mountains. 
It  is  an  acute  pyramid,  and  has  a  surface  like 
frosted  silver.  It  seems  so  dead  and  cold  that  one 
does  not  suspect  its  latent  capacity  for  motion  and 
sound.  Yet  it  is  from  this  statuesque  spur  that 
some  of  the  most  terrible  avalanches  of  the  Jung- 
frau are  let  loose.  The  sides  are  so  steep  that 
the  ice  and  snow  are  always  about  to  slide  off, 
and,  when  the  afternoon  sun  shines  straight  and 
hot  upon  them,  the  watcher  for  avalanches  is 
never  disappointed.  I  had  been  staring  at  the 
dazzling  Jungfrau  through  smoke-colored  glasses 
for  some  time,  and  waiting  for  the  show  to  begin. 


AVALANCHES  ON  THE  JUNGFRAU.        137 

My  point  of  observation  was  on  a  knoll  or  excres- 
cence of  the  Wengern  Alp — itself  no  mean  mount- 
ain— from  which  the  peerless  Jungfrau  can  be  seen 
at  the  shortest  range.  The  day  was  perfect,  the 
sky  cloudless  and  the  wind  hushed.  The  only 
signs  of  life  around  me  were  the  fluttering  of  but- 
terflies and  the  humming  of  bees.  The  silence 
was  awful.  Far  off,  down  in  the  Lauterbrunnen 
Valley,  I  could  see  the  Staubbach  Fall  sparkling  in 
the  sunshine.  From  my  exalted  station  its  course 
could  be  tracked  for  a  long  distance  before  it 
flung  itself  into  the  abyss  and  kept  its  horse- 
tail form  complete  for  nearly  a  thousand  feet. 
It  looked  so  near,  through  the  transparent  air, 
that  sometimes  I  fancied  I  could  hear  its  roar. 
But  this  was  an  illusion.  The  only  sound  that 
breaks  the  stillness  of  the  solitary  height  is  that 
of  the  avalanche  for  which  I  was  so  patiently 
waiting. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  gleam  as  of  particles  in 
motion  on  a  part  of  the  Silberhorn  at  which  I  had 
often  looked  with  keen  expectations.  For  just 
there  could  be  discerned,  without  a  glass,  a  series 
of  long,  parallel  scratches  such  as  avalanches  al- 
ways make.  These  are  the  grooves  in  which,  like 
many  human  institutions,  they  may  be  said  to  run 
from  year  to  year  by  force  of  habit.  The  rate  of 
the  motion  was  so  slow  and  indeterminate — for 


138  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

a  reason  which  I  afterward  found  out — that  one 
might,  for  a  moment,  question  if  the  shining  atoms 
were  not  stationary,  after  all.  But  no  !  though  the 
pace  seemed  to  be  that  of  a  snail,  it  was  real  and 
downward,  and  was  soon  too  accelerated  to  be  mis- 

N 

taken.     The  whole  breadth  of  one  side  of  the  Sil- 
berhorn  was  moving,  beyond  a  doubt.     I  was  wit- 
nessing the  sublime  spectacle  of  a  great  avalanche. 
More  swiftly  it  descended,  and   yet  it  seemed  to 
crawl.     In  this  way  it  slid  along  for  a  short  dis- 
tance— about  2,000  feet,  as  I  afterward  learned — 
when  the  mass  fell  over  a  jutting  piece  of  ice  or 
rock.     Then  it  looked  something  like  a  waterfall. 
Below  was   another  steep   slope   scored  with  the 
furrows  of  old  avalanches.     Here  the  motion  was 
more  rapid,  but  still  surprisingly  slow.     Then,  and 
not  before,  I  heard  a  sound  as  of  thunder.     If  the 
sky   had  not  been  one  unspotted  blue,  I  should 
have  supposed  a  storm  to  be  bursting  somewhere 
among  the   mountains.      It   was   the   noise   of  the 
avalanche,  at  that  moment  reaching  my  ears  from 
a  distance,  which   was   so   deceptive.      Later  on, 
studying  the  phenomena   of  avalanches  more  de- 
liberately, I  ascertained  that  the   scene  of  action 
— apparently  not  more  than  half  a  mile   off — was 
often  seven  miles  and  never  less  than  three.     By 
noting  the  avalanche  at  the  instant  of  its  birth  and 
counting  the  seconds   of   time  till  the   first  boom 


AVALANCHES  ON  THE  JUNGFRAU.        139 

reported  itself,  one  can  calculate  the  distance  with 
sufficient  accuracy. 

The  Silberhorn  being  many  miles  from  my 
standpoint  in  an  air-line,  it  follows  that  the  terms 
"small"  and  "slow,"  used  in  connection  with  its 
avalanches,  are  irrelevant.  The  breadth  of  the 
falling  mass  should  be  expressed  in  rods  and  not 
in  feet.  Its  movement  was  exceedingly  swift. 
What  seemed  to  start  as  snow  was,  in  fact,  a  great 
ice-cake,  acres  in  extent,  and  perhaps  fifty  feet 
thick.  This,  striking  against  rocks  in  its  course, 
broke  into  fragments  which  were  indistinguishable 
in  the  distance.  The  apparent  waterfall  was  com- 
posed chiefly  of  large  lumps  of  ice.  These  were 
destined  to  be  pulverized  in  good  earnest  as  they 
continued  their  descent.  Then  I  heard  a  sound  as 
of  hissing  mingled  with  the  deeper  reverberations. 
A  short  distance — more  than  a  thousand  feet,  prob- 
ably— was  thus  traversed  when  the  avalanche  en- 
tered upon  another  stage  of  its  career.  It  tumbled 
over  another  ridge — this  time  looking  more  like  a 
waterfall  than  before.  Here  its  volume  was  much 
contracted,  and  1  could  clearly  see  that  this  fact 
was  due  to  the  depth  of  the  rock-bound  channels 
through  which  it  ran.  Then  it  sprawled  quite 
freely  over  a  great  open  space  or  plateau,  where 
it  rested  and  formed  a  perceptible  heap,  thick  at 
the  center,  and  flattening  out  gradually  toward  the 


140  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

edges.  Judging  of  its  dimensions  by  my  revised 
standards,  I  should  say  that  it  covered  many  acres, 
and  was  deep  enough  to  bury  an  Alpine  village 
of  the  average  size. 

Between  noon  and  two  o'clock,  when  I  left  the 
fascinating  scene  to  seek  for  luncheon  at  the  Hotel 
des  Avalanches,  about  three  hundred  feet  below 
my  mound  of  solitary  observation,  the  Silberhorn 
had  contributed  nothing  further  to  the  pile  at  its 
base.  But,  at  other  points  of  the  imposing  range 
visible  from  the  Wengern  Alp,  and  especially  on 
the  main  body  of  the  Jungfrau,  on  a  shoulder  of 
the  Monch,  and  on  the  steepest  part  of  the  Eiger, 
some  avalanche  was  always  in  sight  of  the  atten- 
tive observer.  They  usually  resembled  cascades 
from  beginning  to  end.  Rarely  could  one  see  the 
popular  idea  of  an  avalanche  realized.  Most  people, 
I  find,  think  of  avalanches  as  broad  tracts  of  snow 
which  are  transferred  from  the  upper  part  of  a 
mountain  into  a  valley  at  its  foot,  keeping  their 
general  shape  all  the  way.  The  Silberhorn  speci- 
men corresponded  to  this  ideal  for  a  short  dis- 
tance, as  I  have  said.  But  all  the  others  trickled 
down  in  a  water-like  way  from  top  to  bottom. 
The  behavior  of  the  falling  ice  and  snow  was  so 
much  like  that  of  water  that  one  could  be  con- 
vinced that  he  was  beholding  an  avalanche  only 
when  he  saw  what  took  place  at  its  terminus. 


AVALANCHES  ON  THE  JUNGFRAU.        141 

For,  in  five  cases  out  of  six,  the  icy  torrent  ended 
in  a  white  heap,  which  still  remained  far  up  the 
mountain-sides,  though  below  the  true  snow-line. 
Except  that  they  lacked  the  well-known  green  tint, 
the  tracts  of  snow  and  ice  thus  deposited  looked 
like  glaciers.  Brooks  ran  from  the  lower  end  of 
them  into  the  valleys  far  beneath. 

The  grooves — or  deeply  worn  passage-ways — 
through  which  these  avalanches  descend,  seem  as 
if  made  by  human  hands.  Some  of  them  run  as 
straight  as  bowling-alleys.  Others  have  easy  and 
graceful  curves,  as  if  laid  out  for  a  railway.  But, 
almost  without  an  exception,  the  transit  of  the  ava- 
lanche from  peak  to  base  is  interrupted  by  narrow 
rock-gorges.  Against  these  it  dashes  itself  with  a 
fury  expressed  to  my  ear  by  a  sound  like  that  of 
a  small  cannon,  which  is  heard  far  above  the  rest 
of  the  racket.  The  latter  generally  reminds  one 
of  the  irregular  firing  of  infantry,  and  appears  to 
be.  caused  by  large  fragments  of  ice  and  stones 
which  are  brought  down  with  the  lighter  mate- 
rial. It  is  only  an  avalanche  of  the  broadest  pat- 
tern that  imitates  the  deep  roll  of  thunder.  And 
this  reminds  me  to  mention  that  some  of  the  most 
deafening  sounds  that  one  hears  in  the  Alps  are 
not  easily  explained.  As  he  is  gazing  intently  upon 
the  Jungfrau,  he  is  startled  by  an  ear-splitting  re- 
port as  of  a  5oo-pounder.  He  expects,  as  a  matter 


142  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

of  course,  to  see  some  enormous  cornice  of  ice  tum- 
bling down.  But  all  is  motionless  up  there.  He 
asks  his  guide  what  has  happened.  The  man  tells 
him  that  probably  a  big  rock  has  fallen  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Jungfrau,  or  in  some  ravine  on  the  spec- 
tator's side,  but  out  of  his  sight.  I  have  observed 
that,  wherever  there  is  a  glacier,  this  loudest  and 
most  striking  of  all  the  mountain  sounds  is  most 
often  heard.  At  our  hotel  (de  1'Ours),  in  Grindel- 
wald,  from  which  two  glaciers  can  be  seen,  these 
extraordinary  noises  called  the  guests  to  the  doors 
and  windows  many  times  on  sunny  afternoons.  But 
not  once  did  they  see  anything  which  served  to 
explain  the  mystery.  In  defiance  of  the  guides,  I 
attribute  the  sounds  to  the  cracking  of  ice  in  the 
glaciers  under  the  influence  of  heat.  There  is 
something  strangely  uncanny  in  the  occurrence  of 
such  appalling  noises  without  any  visible  cause. 

The  guides  of  Grindelwald,  and  of  all  the  Ber- 
nese Oberland,  are  an  aristocracy.  I  am  referring 
to  those  who  pilot  you  safely  among  the  real  dan- 
gers of  the  Jungfrau,  the  Wetterhorn,  the  Schreck- 
horn,  the  Finsteraarhorn,  and  the  other  first-class 
peaks.  The  most  distinguished  of  them  are  named 
in  all  the  hand-books.  They  pose  as  objects  of 
admiration  in  the  streets.  And  they  are  well 
worth  looking  at.  They  are  lithe  and  sinewy, 


THE  GUIDES  OF  GRINDELWALD. 


143 


with  frank,  resolute  faces.  They  mostly  dress  in 
corduroy  velveteen,  with  slouch  hats  of  the  same. 
Their  yellow  beards  sweep  their  breasts.  A  pro- 
vokingly  slow  gait  also  identifies  them.  They 
walk — unless  under  the  spur  of  necessity — about 
half  as  fast  as  the  ordinary  American  or  English- 
man. A  friend  of  mine,  in  tow  of  a  guide,  con- 
sumed six  hours  in  the  ascent  of  the  Wengern  Alp 
from  Grindelwald.  The  usual  time  is  only  three 
hours.  But  he  arrived  at  the  top  perfectly  un- 
blown, and  then  appreciated  the  wisdom  of  going 
slowly.  These  men  are  very  taciturn.  They  give 
opinions  about  the  weather  with  great  reluctance, 
if  at  all,  and  will  not  converse  about  anything 
while  in  the  act  of  climbing.  Thus  they  save  their 
wind,  the  want  of  which  is  so  trying  to  inexpe- 
rienced Alpine  tourists.  But,  what  they  lack  in 
affability  they  make  up  in  essential  service.  They 
will  stand  by  their  employer  in  every  tight  place, 
and  will  rescue  his  remains  and  bear  them  back 
to  the  valley,  if  he  persists  in  despising  the  guide's 
advice  and  perishes  in  consequence. 

These  trusty  fellows  make  great  friends  of  mem- 
bers of  the  Alpine  Club,  and  are  sometimes  well 
paid  for  leaving  their  beloved  Switzerland  and  aid- 
ing in  the  conquest  of  high  mountains  in  the  an- 
tipodes. One  of  the  corps  has  visited  both  India 
and  New  Zealand  for  this  purpose.  He  showed 


144  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

as  much  sagacity  in  attacking  the  redoubtable 
giants  of  those  distant  countries  as  if  he  had 
known  all  about  their  weakest  points  from  his  in- 
fancy. In  every  case  he  took  his  patron  success- 
fully to  the  top,  by  a  route  which  he  instinctively 
chose  as  the  easiest  and  the  best.  This  guide  re- 
turned home  through  London,  and,  while  there, 
his  employer  made  him  the  subject  of  an  interest- 
ing experiment  to  test  his  "  bump "  of  locality. 
One  evening  the  man  was  asked  to  take  a  ride 
across  London  in  a  cab.  He  was  driven  a  dis- 
tance of  many  miles,  and  the  route  was  purposely 
made  as  tangled  and  intricate  as  possible.  Arriv- 
ing at  their  destination — the  house  of  an  Alpine 
celebrity — the  cab  was  dismissed.  After  a  short 
detention,  the  guide  was  told  to  return  with  his 
employer  through  the  same  streets  which  they  had 
traversed  in  their  roundabout  journey.  And  he 
did  it  without  making  a  single  mistake,  although 
an  entire  stranger  in  the  great  city.  The  man  had 
not  the  faintest  suspicion  that  he  would  be  asked 
to  do  this  difficult  thing.  He  had  almost  uncon- 
sciously marked  down  the  whole  labyrinthine  route. 
He  did  in  London  exactly  what  he  would  have 
done  without  the  least  effort  among  the  mountains 
of  his  native  land.  His  observation  and  memory  of 
trifles  supplied  the  unerring  clews  by  which  he  re- 
traced his  way  through  the  maze  of  the  metropolis. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

EXCELSIOR  AND  THE  MAIDEN. 

THE  hero  of  Longfellow's  poem,  "  Excelsior," 
has  long  been  a  favorite  subject  with  artists. 
Among  the  many  full-length  fancy  portraits  of  that 
rash  young  man,  is  one  which  represents  him  in  a 
loose  sack-coat  with  knee-breeches,  a  rolling  shirt- 
collar  displaying  his  open  throat,  and  the  long 
ends  of  a  necktie  streaming  in  the  winds.  The 
costume  was  charming,  but  too  airy  for  the  higher 
Alps,  to  which  he  was  bound.  He  had  a  little 
kit,  presumably  of  clothes,  slung  across  his  shoul- 
der. He  held  aloft  a  stick  to  which  was  tied  a 
white  flag  or  banner  inscribed  "  Excelsior."  The 
artist  had  caught  the  spirit  of  Longfellow's  verse, 
and  had  stamped  enthusiasm  and  high  resolve  on 
the  pleasant  face  of  this  young  fellow. 

I  had  been  sitting  for  some  time  over  an  out- 
door luncheon  in  front  of  the  Hotel  des  Ava- 
lanches, with  lines  of  "  Excelsior  "  running  in  my 
head.  Before  me  was  the  Queen  of  Mountains. 


146  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

The  landlord  had  assured  me  that  the  top  of  the 
symmetrical  peak  was  fifteen  good  miles  away.  It 
did  not  seem  more  than  a  mile  off  in  the  transpar- 
ent atmosphere  of  that  perfect  June  morning.  It 
was  equally  impossible  to  realize  that  you  could 
not  see,  with  the  naked  eye,  the  figures — showing 
black  against  the  spotless  snow — of  persons  climbing 
the  Jungfrau  by  paths  directly  opposite  the  house. 
There  was  no  one  so  occupied  that  day,  as  the  sea- 
son for  ascents  does  not  begin  till  July.  So  I  was 
obliged  to  take  the  landlord's  word  for  it  that  the 
largest  parties  attacking  the  mountain  were  invis- 
ible from  his  hotel,  except  through  the  fine  tele- 
scope which  stood  there  on  its  tripod  with  joints 
greased  and  ready  for  use.  Then  I  fell  to  meditat- 
ing on  the  sad  fate  of  the  willful  young  hero  of 
the  poem.  I  amused  myself  imagining  him  as  he 
toiled  up  those  awful  heights,  after  dark,  flounder- 
ing through  the  snow  waist-deep,  just  missing  the 
crevasses  by  an  inch,  starting  little  avalanches  of 
loose  rocks  and  ice  (the  larger,  more  overwhelming 
and  dangerous  snow-slides  occurring  only  in  the 
hours  of  full  sunshine),  and  finally  succumbing  to 
fatigue  and  exhaustion  and  cold,  and  dying  up 
there,  far  from  human  aid,  with  his  banner  still 
gripped  in  his  hand.  How  much  better,  I  thought, 
if  he  had  taken  a  fancy  to  the  maiden  of  the  valley, 
and  remained  comfortable  and  happy  down  below ! 


EXCELSIOR  AND  THE  MAIDEN.  147 

And  there  was  the  identical  maiden  at  my 
elbow !  She  had  just  poured  out  a  cup  of  smok- 
ing, fragrant  coffee  for  me,  and  stood  waiting 
meekly  to  take  another  order.  A  prettier  girl 
never  'tended  on  travelers.  I  addressed  her  in 
English,  and  found  she  spoke  it  well ;  and  when  she 
added — noticing  that  I  was  an  American — that  she 
had  relatives  in  the  United  States,  and  had  spent 
two  years  there  on  a  visit,  I  felt  that  here  was  a 
sort  of  country-woman  in  this  out-of-the-way  place. 
Surely  I  had  seen  few  American  girls  of  twenty  or 
thereabout  comelier  than  this  true  daughter  of  the 
Alps.  She  was  a  niece  of  the  landlord,  she  said, 
and  she  had  the  manners  of  a  lady.  As  the  season 
had  but  recently  opened,  and  the  tide  of  tourists 
not  yet  set  in,  there  was  a  scarcity  of  hired  help  at 
the  inn.  She  was  assisting  in  the  humblest  ways 
to  make  everybody  contented.  She  served  me 
without  any  sense  of  humiliation,  such  as  possibly 
I  might  have  observed  in  her  had  she  passed  a  few 
more  years  in  America  before  returning  to  her 
dear  old  Swiss  home. 

Her  pretty  face  and  innocent,  winning  ways  had 
divided  my  attention  with  the  avalanches.  I  am 
not  sure  but  that  I  missed  some  little  ones  while 
chatting  with  her.  As  I  sipped  the  delicious  cof- 
fee, my  imagination  paired  her  off  with  that  head- 
strong youth  in  "  Excelsior."  I  could  not  help 


148  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

thinking  what  a  fool  he  was  not  to  rest  his  weary 
head  on  that  breast,  as  per  invitation,  instead  of 
climbing  the  terrible  mountain  after  dark. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  mountain  air — perhaps  it 
was  the  coffee.  Anyhow,  my  imagination  became 
so  excited  that  I  thought  I  saw  that  same  young 
man  right  before  me,  coming  up  the  steep  road 
from  Lauterbrunnen.  He  was  not  two  hundred 
feet  away.  There  was  no  mistaking  him.  He  had 
on  the  knee-breeches,  the  bob-tailed  jacket,  the  cut- 
away collar  and  flowing  necktie  of  the  picture,  and 
a  small  knapsack  of  the  roll-pattern  was  strapped 
to  his  back.  There,  too,  was  the  attractive  face 
stamped  with  fierce  resolution.  But  the  most 
striking  mark  of  identity  was  a  white  flag  attached 
to  a  walking-stick  which  he  carried  over  his  shoul- 
der like  a  musket.  The  wind  was  brisk  and  blew 
the  flag  out  straight  behind  him.  It  did  not,  so  far 
as  I  could  see,  bear  the  inscription  "  Excelsior,"  and 
this  was  the  first  shock  to  the  illusion.  As  I  looked 
wonderingly  at  him,  he  turned  on  his  heels  and 
shook  his  flag,  which  I  could  now  see  was  only  a 
pocket-handkerchief,  high  in  the  air,  as  if  signaling 
some  distant  person. 

This  dumb  show  lasted  about  half  a  minute. 
Then  he  lowered  his  flag  and  strode  up  to  the 
hotel.  As  he  drew  near  enough,  I  saw  that  his 
eyes  were  deep  blue,  like  those  of  the  hero  of  the 


EXCELSIOR  AND    THE  MAIDEN. 

poem.     So,  for  all  these  reasons,  I  at  once  christ- 
ened him  "  Excelsior." 

Excelsior,  though  a  young  man,  was  not  a  green 
traveler.  He  knew  a  good  thing  when  he  saw  it. 
There  was  a  pretty  girl,  and  there  was  a  little  table 
covered  with  a  clean  white  cloth,  all  set  out  with 
plates,  glasses,  knives,  forks,  and  napkins,  under  an 
awning  that  screened  it  from  the  sun,  with  the 
peerless  Jungfrau  in  full  view.  So,  when  he  took 
his  seat  at  the  spare  table  near  me,  I  was  not  sur- 
prised. He  looked  at  the  maiden,  and  she  looked 
at  him.  Everybody  would  have  said  they  were 
made  for  each  other,  so  far  as  good  looks  are 
reasons  for  mating.  She  was  not  a  full-blooded 
brunette,  but  her  deep-brown  hair  and  eyes  and 
swarthy  ruddiness  of  cheeks  differentiated  her  from 
the  blonde  school  of  beauty.  He  was  fair-haired, 
with  a  skin  which  the  sun  had  reddened  but  not 
freckled,  and  just  such  a  forehead  (now  that  he  had 
cast  his  slouched  hat  aside)  as  you  see  in  Shel- 
ley's portraits.  As  he  sat  there,  with  his  strong, 
shapely  arm  flung  over  the  back  of  his  chair,  he 
looked  the  embodiment  of  youthful  vigor  and  care- 
less grace.  The  misleading  outlines  of  modern 
clothes  could  not  conceal  the  symmetry  of  his  fig- 
ure. How  the  sculptors  must  have  wanted  him 
for  a  model,  if  he  ever  came  under  their  eyes,  in 
Rome  or  Florence  And  they  would  have  been 


150  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

equally  glad,  I  am  sure,  to  secure  a  like  favor  from 
the  Swiss  maiden. 

Suddenly  he  glanced  at  his  watch,  and  then 
accosted  me  in  the  language  I  expected  to  hear, 
for  I  knew  him  to  be  an  American  at  first  sight. 

"  Not  a  bad  job,  that — only  four  hours  and  ten 
minutes  from  Interlaken,  and  the  muddiest  road  I 
ever  saw,  up  the  Wengern  Alp." 

"  Well  done,"  I  replied.  "  The  guide-books 
give  six  hours  for  it.  But  aren't  you  tired?" 

"  Not  the  slightest,"  he  said,  laughing  pleas- 
antly, and  showing  his  fine  white  teeth.  "  Lucky 
for  me,  as  I  must  do  Grindelwald  and  the  lower 
glacier  before  night" 

This  astonished  me.  I  had  found  the  ascent 
from  Grindelwald  over  thousands  of  rude  stone 
steps  and  through  seas  of  mud,  hard  enough  on 
horseback,  and  was  dreading  the  descent  as  still 
more  trying.  And  here  was  Excelsior  talking 
about  it  as  if  it  were  only  a  little  promenade  on 
Broadway,  not  to  mention  the  visit  to  the  lower 
glacier,  a  good  two  hours'  stretch  (going  and  re- 
turning) from  Grindelwald  and  more  mud  from 
three  to  six  inches  deep  all  the  way,  except  for 
the  stepping-stones. 

"Well,  you  are  plucky  —  young  America  all 
over ! "  I  at  length  remarked,  with  a  pride  in  the 
gameness  of  my  countryman. 


EXCELSIOR  AND   THE  MAIDEN.  151 

"  I'm  from  Illinois,"  said  he. 

"  And  I  from  New  York." 

"  Then  we're  sure  not  to  quarrel,"  he  rejoined, 
"  for  I've  noticed  that  New-Yorkers  and  West- 
erners get  along  better  together  in  Europe  than 
Americans  from  any  other  parts  of  the  country." 

I  said  that  I  had  often  noticed  the  same  thing, 
without  being  able  to  explain  it.  There  was  a 
singular  instinctive  aversion  between  New-Yorkers 
themselves  and  also  between  them  and  Bostonians 
and  Philadelphians.  But,  whenever  New  York 
and  Chicago  met  in  any  foreign  country,  the  fra- 
ternization was  spontaneous.  Then  I  took  the  lib- 
erty of  asking  my  young  friend  why  he  waved 
his  handkerchief  on  the  end  of  a  stick  just  before 
pulling  up  at  the  hotel. 

"  Oh !  only  to  signal  a  fellow  over  there  on  the 
Murren.  We  had  walked  together  up  the  Lauter- 
brunnen  Valley,  and  he  turned  off  to  climb  the 
Murren  while  I  kept  on  for  the  Wengern  Alp. 
We  agreed  to  exchange  signals  from  the  tops  of 
the  two  mountains,  or  foot-hills,  or  whatever  else 
they  should  be  called.  But  he  hasn't  got  up  there 
yet,  for  I  don't  see  a  flutter  of  his  handkerchief." 

"  Possibly  because  it  is  at  least  eight  miles  from 
here  to  Murren  in  an  air-line,"  I  said,  smiling. 

The  maiden,  who  had  been  listening  with  great 
interest  to  this  dialogue,  her  tender  eyes  fixed  on 


152  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

the  younger  of  the  two  speakers  all  the  time,  here 
broke  in  to  say : 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  look  through  the 
glass  down  there.  That  will  show  you  everything 
on  the  Murren  plain  enough."  She  spoke  English 
with  a  foreign  accent  so  delicate  that  types  can  not 
reproduce  it. 

"  Thank  you,  miss,"  said  Excelsior,  sweetly,  "  I 
shall  be  very  glad.  But  let  me  order  the  lunch 
first." 

The  young  girl  seemed  happy  to  serve  him. 
She  handed  him  a  bill  of  fare,  and  waited  by  his 
side  while  he  looked  it  over.  It  was  as  good  as  a 
play  to  watch  the  two  thus  thrown  together  by 
Fate. 

Excelsior  examined  the  bill  with  great  apparent 
interest.  Every  item  in  it  seemed  to  raise  a  ques- 
tion which  he  asked  in  a  voice  so  low  that  I  could 
not  hear  him.  I  never  saw  a  man  so  particular 
about  his  luncheon,  and  so  long  ordering  it.  But 
at  last  he  got  through,  and  the  maiden  hastened 
into  the  house. 

"  Fine  girl,  or  rather,  young  lady,  that,"  said  I 
to  Excelsior.  "  The  niece  of  the  landlord,  and  has 
been  in  America  two  years." 

"  I  thought  she  was  superior,"  replied  Excelsior, 
"  and  wondered  where  she  picked  up  her  good 
English.  What  a  musical  voice  and  lovely — " 


EXCELSIOR  AND   THE  MAIDEN.  153 

But  while  he  was  speaking  the  fair  object  of  our 
comments  reappeared  upon  the  scene.  I  may  have 
been  mistaken,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  cherry- 
colored  ribbon,  over  which  rolled  a  plain,  broad 
white  collar,  had  been  retied  in  her  absence.  And 
this  reminded  me  that  Excelsior  had,  while  speak- 
ing to  me,  been  smoothing  out  the  rumpled  ends 
of  his  blue  neckerchief.  To  my  eye  it  looked 
more  pleasing  before,  but  I  dare  say  he  was  not 
thinking  of  my  taste  in  dress. 

What  I  had  told  Excelsior  about  this  young 
girl  had  caused  a  perceptible  change  in  his  man- 
ner toward  her.  He  had  been  civil  enough  before, 
but  now  he  was  quite  polite,  as  one  who  recognizes 
the  difference  between  a  landlord's  niece  and  a 
common  house-servant.  But  it  was  plain  that  her 
two  years'  residence  in  America  had  impressed 
him  most  deeply.  To  him  she  was  in  some  sense 
an  American  girl.  It  was  with  a  bow  almost  defer- 
ential that  he  said,  if  she  pleased,  he  would  now 
try  the  telescope,  and  perhaps  be  able  to  get  a 
sight  of  his  friend  on  the  Murren.  The  maiden 
acted  very  much  as  if  she  expected  and  wanted 
this,  for  she  smiled  and  tripped  down  the  little 
slope  before  the  house  to  the  spot  where  the  glass 
rested  on  its  three  spindle  legs.  Excelsior  fol- 
lowed. What  was  said  down  there  I  do  not  know, 
for  I  did  not  think  it  my  business  to  join  them,  and 


154  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

from  the  place  where  I  still  sat,  watching  for  ava- 
lanches, I  could  not  catch  a  word.  I  only  repeat 
what  I  saw. 

It  seemed  to  take  a  great  while  to  get  that 
telescope  into  working  trim.  Nothing  was  the 
matter  with  it  when  I  used  it  twenty  minutes  be- 
fore ;  but  now  they  had  the  greatest  trouble  in 
lengthening  or  shortening  the  focus  and  elevat- 
ing or  depressing  the  object-glass.  For  me  one 
hand  was  enough  to  adjust  the  instrument,  but 
now  it  took  four  hands,  and  they  were  for  a  long 
time  unsuccessful.  As  far  as  I  could  make  out 
things  clearly,  these  hands  appeared  to  be  getting 
in  each  other's  way  occasionally ;  and,  besides, 
there  was  one  head  too  many.  It  sometimes 
seemed  as  if  they  were  both  trying  to  look  through 
the  telescope  at  once,  and  this  was  obviously  im- 
possible. And,  finally,  when  they  had  the  tele- 
scope all  right,  as  I  supposed,  and  Excelsior  was 
about  to  pick  up  his  Murren  friend  in  good  ear- 
nest, they  would  stop  and  lean  on  the  long  brass 
tube  and  fall  to  conversing  with  each  other,  as  if 
they  had  clean  forgotten  the  business  in  hand. 
Then,  looking  up,  they  saw  me  gazing  down  at 
them,  and  resumed  their  absurd  manipulations  of 
the  glass  with  increased  energy. 

I  felt  just  mischievous  enough  to  shout  to  them : 
"Anything  the  matter?  Can  I  help  you?" 


EXCELSIOR  AND    THE  MAIDEN.  155 

"  No,  thanks,"  he  cried.  "  We  are  just  catch- 
ing the  range  now ;  something  the  matter  with 
the  swivel.  Oh,  there  he  is,  swinging  his  hand- 
kerchief on  the  piazza,  of  the  Murren  Hotel !  And 
now  he  is  looking  through  a  telescope,  too.  He 
sees  us ! "  Excelsior  thereupon  fluttered  his  own 
signal  for  about  one  minute  with  great  enthusiasm. 
By  means  of  the  two  glasses  the  friends  had  ex- 
changed salutes  across  an  interval  of  eight  miles. 

This  ceremony  over,  Excelsior  apparently  trans- 
ferred his  interest  to  the  Jungfrau,  the  Monch,  the 
Eiger,  and  lesser  peaks,  as  well  he  might  have  done, 
for  there  is  no  single  view  in  the  Bernese  Oberland 
more  sublime  and  satisfactory  in  all  its  details  than 
that  of  the  mountain-chain  seen  from  the  Wengern 
Alp.  Here,  too,  the  telescope  was  continually  get- 
ting out  of  gear  and  defying  the  joint  efforts  of 
Excelsior  and  the  maiden  to  make  it  work  right. 
I  do  not  know  if  they  would  ever  have  quitted 
the  task  which  occupied  them  so  intently  had  not 
a  horseman  and  a  lady  in  a  chaise-porte,  swinging 
between  two  stalwart  peasants,  arrived  on  the 
scene.  The  new-comers,  of  course,  required  im- 
mediate attention,  and  the  maiden  was  too  good  a 
niece  of  the  landlord  to  neglect  his  interests.  So, 
with  this  single  remark,  made  so  loud  that  all  of 
us  could  hear  it,  "  I  think  you  understand  how  to 
do  it  now,  sir,"  she  bounded  up  the  slope  like  a 


156  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

chamois  to  look  after  the  new  guests.  Excelsior 
followed  a  moment  later,  and  sat  down  at  the 
little  table  where  his  hot  luncheon  was  about  due. 

I  felt  that  a  pretty  comedy  of  real  life  had  been 
interrupted  by  these  arrivals.  I  hoped  to  see  a 
second  act  of  it  when  the  maiden  served  Excel- 
sior with  his  repast,  but  in  this  I  was  disappointed. 
She  soon  brought  out  the  dishes  and  the  half-bottle 
of  Yvorne  he  had  ordered,  and  put  them  before 
him.  But  she  was  silent  and  demure  now,  for 
there  were  new  eyes  upon  her.  Excelsior  himself 
had  an  attack  of  gravity,  for  he  ate  and  drank 
without  saying  a  word  to  the  maiden,  who  came 
and  went.  If  it  was  not  a  case  of  love  at  first 
sight  on  his  part,  then  I  am  no  judge  of  the  symp- 
toms of  that  passion.  As  for  the  maiden,  who 
can  tell? 

I  am  sorry  not  to  gratify  the  legitimate  curi- 
osity of  my  readers  further  on  this  point ;  but  I 
could  not  tarry  longer  on  the  Wengern  Alp,  even 
to  report  the  progress  of  a  genuine  love-affair. 
An  appointment  at  Grindelwald  compelled  me  to 
hasten  my  departure.  I  bade  good-by  to  Excel- 
sior, with  a  hope  that  I  should  meet  him  at  the 
H6tel  de  1'Ours  that  night  or  next  morning.  He 
replied,  in  a  confused  manner,  that  he  did  not 
know.  Perhaps  he  would  spend  just  one  night  on 
the  Wengern  Alp  ;  the  house  there  seemed  so  snug 


EXCELSIOR  AND   THE  MAIDEN.  157 

and  comfortable.  "  It  would  not  be  a  bad  idea, 
you  know,  to  visit  the  glacier  over  there  in  the 
morning,  while  the  snow  is  still  hard  and  the  foot- 
ing good." 

I  did  not  feel  familiar  enough  with  Excelsior 
to  joke  him  about  another  attraction — a  second 
Jungfrau — so  I  only  smiled.  When  I  said  good-by 
to  the  maiden,  I  could  not  help  adding  that  I 
hoped  she  would  see  America  again  some  day, 
and  perhaps  stay  there ;  and,  by  a  natural  associa- 
tion of  ideas,  I  glanced  at  the  same  time  at  Excel- 
sior. For,  far-fetched  as  the  thought  may  seem, 
the  mountain  air  was  so  stimulating  that  I  per- 
sisted in  imagining  that  the  chance  meeting  of 
these  two  emotional  young  persons  on  the  Wen- 
gern  Alp  was  the  beginning  of  a  romance  destined 
to  end  in  a  happy  marriage.  What  a  good-looking 
couple  they  would  make ! 

I  have  never  seen  him  or  her  from  that  day  to 
this.  But  we  all  find  out  for  ourselves  the  truth 
of  the  old  saying  that  the  world  is  small.  I  should 
not  be  much  astonished  to  meet  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ex- 
celsior some  day ;  and  then  I  shall  tell  him  how 
much  more  sensible  I  think  him  to  be  than  the 
young  man  in  the  poem,  who  had  no  taste  for 
pretty  Swiss  girls. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

AN  ENGLISH  ADMIRER  OF    THE  "AMERICAN  LAN- 
GUAGE." 

AT  the  Hotel  de  1'Ours  (the  Bear  Hotel  of  Eng- 
lishmen and  Americans  who  do  not  care  to  expose 
their  French)  I  added  another  to  the  list  of  my 
pleasant  English  acquaintances.  One  morning, 
while  sauntering  in  front  of  the  hotel  before  break- 
fast, I  noticed  a  young  man  with  bright-yellow 
hair,  whiskers,  and  mustache,  calm  gray  eyes,  and 
that  perfect  freshness  of  complexion  which  one 
rarely  sees  in  men's  faces  outside  of  England.  He 
was  habited  in  corduroy  from  his  jockey-cap  down 
to  his  knee-breeches,  and  wore  stout  walking-shoes 
of  the  Alpine  Club  pattern.  In  his  right  hand  he 
sported  a  sharp-pointed  Alpenstock,  which  looked 
stained  and  worn  with  use,  but  was  unscarred  by 
branding-irons.  His  well-knit  figure  and  his  good 
face  were  a  recommendation  to  all  beholders. 
We  exchanged  glances,  and  would  probably  have 
spoken  to  each  other  then,  if  one  of  the  long- 


WATCHING   THE    WETTERHORN.  159 

bearded  guides  had  not  appeared  and  taken  off 
Corduroy  in  the  direction  of  the  lower  gla- 
cier. Corduroy  was  the  name  which,  in  absence 
of  the  authentic  one,  I  conferred  upon  him.  I 
regretted  his  hasty  departure,  for  he  seemed  just 
the  man  to  draw  into  an  interesting  conversa- 
tion. 

The  next  morning,  at  about  the  same  hour,  I 
found  Corduroy  standing  alone,  in  the  same  place  as 
before.  He  was  again  dressed  for  an  outing,  and 
had  his  Alpenstock  still  in  hand.  He  was  looking 
fixedly  in  the  direction  of  the  mighty  Wetterhorn, 
whose  snowy  summit  was  now  visible  and  now 
concealed,  as  the  lazy  clouds  or  mist-wreaths  drifted 
back  and  forth.  He  puffed  at  a  brierwood  pipe 
calmly,  and  seemed  engrossed  in  that  occupation 
and  the  study  of  Wetterhorn's  top,  until  he  saw  me 
looking  at  him.  Then  he  pulled  the  pipe  from  his 
mouth,  as  one  who  expects  to  speak  and  be  spoken 
to,  at  the  same  time  walking  toward  me  with  a 
look  of  friendly  recognition. 

Being  the  older,  I  was  the  first  to  break  silence, 
and  I  did  so  with  a  commonplace  remark  upon  the 
weather,  which  was  a  little  uncertain,  but  promis- 
ing to  be  fine.  And  I  could  not  resist  the  tempta- 
tion to  add  that  it  reminded  me  of  the  day  I  as- 
cended the  Gorner  Grat,  10,000  feet  above  the  sea, 
only  two  weeks  before.  That  being  my  only  really 


160  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

hard  climb  in  the  Alps,  I  was  as  proud  of  it  as  a 
boy  of  his  first  trousers. 

Corduroy's  face  expressed  great  interest.  He 
asked  me  a  number  of  questions  about  the  state  of 
the  weather  at  Zermatt,  and  whether  the  hotels 
were  crowded,  and  as  to  the  condition  of  the  road 
from  Vispach  to  St.  Niklaus,  a  bad  bit  generally.  I 
answered  him  very  fully,  only  too  happy  to  show  off 
my  familiarity  with  the  most  wonderful  mountain 
district  of  Switzerland.  And  I  said  patronizingly, 
I  must  confess :  "  Really,  now,  you  ought  to  see  the 
Matterhorn.  It's  worth  the  trouble,  I  assure  you. 
I  was  the  second  man  on  the  Gorner  Grat  this 
year,  and  as  the  snow  was  then  about  eight  feet 
deep,  and  only  a  foot-path  broken  through  it  part 
of  the  way,  the  climbing  was  no  joke.  You  would 
find  it  easier  next — " 

• 

"  But  I  have  already  seen  the  Matterhorn,"  said 
Corduroy,  who  had  been  quietly  smoking  his  pipe 
during  my  remarks. 

"From  what  point?"  I  asked. 

"  From  the  top.  I  made  my  second  ascent  last 
year.  And  hope  to  get  round  there  in  July  for  my 
third." 

I  have  seen,  in  my  day,  many  undemonstrative 
Englishmen.  But  this  one  beat  them  all.  Who 
could  have  thought  he  would  have  listened  so 
patiently  to  all  my  brag  about  that  ant-hill  of  a 


CORDUROY'S  ALPENSTOCK.  161 

Gorner  Grat  when  he  had  done  the  awful  Matter- 
horn  twice  ?  I  was  astonished,  and  at  first  doubtful 
of  Corduroy's  entire  veracity,  though  truth  seemed 
to  ooze  out  of  every  feature  of  his  prepossessing 
face.  I  inadvertently  glanced  at  the  Alpenstock 
and  saw  no  record  of  any  performances  written 
there. 

Corduroy  read  my  thoughts.  He  cast  an  eye 
on  the  smooth  old  Alpenstock  and  smiled  as  he 
said :  "  Oh !  we  never  do  that,  you  know." 

Then  I  remembered  to  have  heard  that  the  peo- 
ple who  do  the  least  climbing  generally  have  the 
most  names  of  conquered  peaks  on  their  Alpen- 
stocks ;  so  that,  in  fact,  the  absence  of  the  dread- 
ful Matterhorn  from  Corduroy's  staff  became  a  sort 
of  proof  that  he  was  not  lying  to  me.  I  blushed  at 
my  unworthy  suspicion.  It  was  now  my  turn  to 
become  deeply  interested.  I  asked  him  many  ques- 
tions about  his  ascents  of  the  most  difficult  mount- 
ain in  all  Europe.  He  answered  briefly  and  mod- 
estly, and  I  also  learned  from  him  by  the  corkscrew 
process  (for  I  never  saw  a  man  with  less  vanity) 
that  he  had  ascended  Mont  Blanc,  the  Jungfrau,  the 
Weisshorn,  Shreckhorn,  and  Finsteraarhorn  once 
each,  and  that  he  was  now  on  the  point  of  attack- 
ing the  Wetterhorn,  toward  which  he  had  been 
gazing,  but  feared  that  the  impending  change  of 
weather  might  compel  him  to  give  it  up. 


1 62  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

I  asked  him  where  he  had  been  the  day  before, 
with  the  long-bearded  guide. 

"  Oh,  only  up  to  the  Eismeer  there,"  he  said, 
jerking  his  thumb  toward  a  white  and  heavenly 
sea  of  ice,  which  shone  at  that  moment,  through  a 
rift  in  the  clouds,  forming  a  horizon  line  of  12,000 
feet  above  the  ocean-level.  It  almost  gave  me  a 
crick  in  the  neck  to  look  at  it. 

"  Of  course  no  guide  was  needed  for  a  thing 
like  that,"  he  added.  "  But  the  old  fellow  wanted 
a  job ;  so  I  took  him  along  to  carry  the  lunch- 
basket.  Aren't  you  going  to  do  the  Eismeer?" 

"  Well,"  said  I,  laughing,  "  I  might  perhaps  get 
as  far  as  the  foot  of  the  glacier.  But  I  guess  I 
should  have  to  discount  the  rest." 

Corduroy  broke  out  laughing.  "  Excuse  me," 
said  he,  "  but  you  Americans  are  so  amusing.  Ha! 
ha !  Discount !  what  a  capital  word  !  So  express- 
ive, you  know.  It  means,  if  I  understand  it,  that 
you  would  go  to  the  foot  of  the  glacier,  and  say 
that  you  had  been  to  the  top.  Ha !  ha !  No 
offense  meant." 

"  Not  quite  as  bad  as  that,"  I  replied,  laughing 
in  turn.  "  To  discount  it,  in  my  sense  of  the  word, 
is  to  imagine  the  rest  of  the  glacier  and  the  Eis- 
meer at  the  top,  from  the  sample  seen  below. 
Have  you  never  discounted  anything  that  way?" 

"  Ha !  ha !     No  !  no  !  we  are  never  allowed  to 


THE  "AMERICAN  LANGUAGE."  163 

do  that.  Discounting  would  be  dead  against  our 
rules." 

I  noticed  that,  for  the  second  time,  he  employed 
the  pronoun  "  we,"  from  which  I  inferred  that  he 
was  a  member  of  some  association  of  mountain- 
climbers.  As  he  seemed  so  much  amused  by  the 
slang  use  of  the  word  "discount,"  I  thought  I 
would  favor  him  with  a  few  more  of  our  latest  and 
choicest  inventions  in  that  line,  which  happened 
to  have  lodged  in  my  memory : 

"You  tumble  to  my  exact  meaning  now,  I 
hope." 

"  Ha !  ha !  Tumble  to,  signifying  to  under- 
stand, of  course.  That's  better  than  discount,  if 
possible.  I  do  so  admire  the  American  language. 
So  rich,  you  know.  Ha !  ha !  " 

I  never  saw  a  man  so  easily  tickled.  In  the 
ecstasy  of  his  mirth  he  capered  about  like  a  danc- 
ing bear,  while  his  laughter  rang  out  till  it  woke 
the  echoes  in  old  Mettenberg  which  frowned  above 
us.  The  noise  drew  a  number  of  the  hotel  guests 
to  the  door,  and  others  peered  through  the  win- 
dows at  him. 

"  They'll  think  it's  a  circus,"  said  I,  innocently. 

"  A  circus.  Ha !  ha !  how  forcible,  and  so  fun- 
ny— just  like  you  Americans !  And  perhaps  you'll 
next  say  I'm  the  performing  clown."  And  that 
idea  started  Corduroy  off  in  another  fit  of  laughter. 


1 64  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

"  That's  about  the  size  of  it." 

"  The  size  of  it !  How  good  !  So  humorous, 
you  know.  Ha!  ha!" 

"  You  seem  to  catch  on  to  American  slang  like 
a  native,"  said  I. 

"  Catch  on.  Ha !  ha !  Well,  that's  the  best  yet. 
A  sort  of  figure  of  speech  meaning  to  seize  some- 
thing as  it  flies,  I  suppose." 

"  You  have  got  it  down  fine." 

Corduroy  laughed  gently  in  an  accommodating 
spirit;  but  I  do  not  think  he  caught  the  precise 
meaning  of  this  last  expression.  He  made  no  com- 
ment on  it,  and  I  was  glad  he  did  not  ask  me  to 
explain  it,  for  I  could  not  have  done  so. 

"  By-the-way,"  said  Corduroy,  "  as  you  are  an 
American,  perhaps  you  can  tell  me  why  an  old 
story  or  joke  is  called  a  chestnut  in  your  country. 
It  may  be  very  funny — in  fact,  it  must  be,  as  it  is 
American.  But  I  don't  tumble  to  it,  as  yet.  Ha ! 
ha!" 

For  the  honor  of  my  country,  I  would  have 
liked  to  clear  up  the  great  chestnut  mystery  to  this 
delightful  young  Englishman.  I  had  heard  some 
accounts  of  the  origin  of  the  word  in  its  application 
to  threadbare  anecdotes  and  moldy  conundrums, 
but  they  were  all  unsatisfactory.  "  I  am  sorry  I 
can  not  answer  your  question,"  said  I,  at  length ; 
"  but  I  can  give  you  points  on  the  chestnut-bell." 


"POINTS"  FOR  CORDUROY.  165 

Corduroy  was  all  ears  while  I  explained  to  him 
the  construction  of  the  little  instrument  which  had 
already  worked  so  useful  a  reform  in  the  clubs  of 
my  country. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  cried,  "  American  inventions 
are  truly  wonderful.  And  this  chestnut-bell  beats 
them  all.  Ha!  ha!  I'm  so  glad  I  met  you  this 
morning !  I'll  have  a  chestnut-bell  made  according 
to  your  description  of  it  down  at  Interlaken  by 
a  metal-worker  I  know  there.  It's  just  what  we 
have  long  wanted.  You  see,  some  of  our  fellows 
don't  climb  any  new  mountains.  They  keep  tell- 
ing all  about  the  old  mountains  they  climbed  years 
ago.  Now,  I  just  want  to  shut  'em  up.  And  the 
chestnut-bell  is  the  thing  to  do  it.  Ha !  ha ! "  And 
Corduroy  roared  with  delight. 

"  All  right,"  said  I ;  "  but  as  the  chestnut-bell  is 
the  latest  thing  out  in  my  country,  let  me  offer  you 
a  piece  of  advice." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Corduroy,  eagerly. 

"  It  is  this :  Don't  give  it  away." 

"  I  see — I  see.  You  mean  I  must  keep  this 
idea  of  a  chestnut-bell  to  myself,  so  as  to  get  the 
start  of  all  the  other  fellows.  How  very  express- 
ive !  Give  away.  Ha  !  ha !  " 

I  was  about  to  make  some  other  valuable  sug- 
gestion on  the  subject,  when  I  saw  among  the 
group  which  then  filled  the  open  doorway  a  slight 


1 66  ROUNDABOUT   TO  MOSCOW. 

figure  beckoning  to  me  quite  earnestly.  When 
that  small  hand  is  gesticulated  in  that  peculiar 
way,  I  do  not  pretend  not  to  see  it.  Experience 
has  taught  me  that  it  is  much  easier  to  answer 
the  summons  in  person  at  once  than  to  explain 
later  on  why  I  did  not  do  so.  I  said  "  Ta !  ta !  "  to 
Corduroy,  and  moved  toward  the  house. 

As  I  hurried  away,  he  called  out  to  me, 
"  There  is  no  getting  ahead  of  you  Americans, 
you  know." 

"  It  will  be  a  cold  day  when  we  get  left,  and 
don't  you  forget  it !  "  was  my  answer  shouted  back 
at  him,  exhausting  my  small  stock  of  slang  in  that 
supreme  effort. 

"Just  so,"  he  cried.  "Ha!  ha!  Cold  day! 
Get  left!  What  a  world  of  meaning!  Be  sure  I 
won't  forget  it !  Ha  !  ha  !  " 

I  never  saw  Corduroy  again.  We  had  a  little 
unambitious  excursion  of  our  own  to  make  that 
day,  and  did  not  get  back  to  the  Bear  before  din- 
ner-time. Then  I  inquired  after  the  gentleman  in 
corduroy,  and  learned  that  he  had  given  up  the 
Wetterhorn  on  account  of  the  thick  weather,  and 
had  started  off  for  a  walk  over  the  Grimsel  to  the 
Rhone  glacier.  He  was  well  known  at  the  hotel, 
being  one  of  its  regular  visitors.  This  steadiness 
of  patronage  might  naturally  be  expected  of  him, 
for  he  proved  to  be  one  of  the  most  distinguished 


RETIRED  CLIMBERS.  167 

members  of  the  Alpine  Club,  famous  for  his  devo- 
tion to  mountain-climbing  in  Switzerland,  and  a 
terror  even  to  the  hardiest  guides,  by  reason  of 
his  courage  and  perseverance  against  all  obstacles. 
He  had,  it  seems,  a  passion  for  new  routes  and 
short  cuts,  which  I  hope  will  not  some  day  end 
the  merry  life  of  Corduroy.  After  this  explana- 
tion, I  understood  his  occasional  allusions  to  "  we  " 
and  "  us  "  and  "  our  fellows  "  and  "  our  rules," 
which  forbade  this  and  that.  And  sometimes  now, 
at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  while  I  am  lying 
awake  and  thinking  over  many  things,  I  catch  my- 
self wondering  if  Corduroy  has  ever  introduced 
the  chestnut-bell  to  the  Alpine  Club,  and,  if  so, 
how  the  retired  climbers  like  it. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

PREHISTORIC  LAKE-DWELLERS — AN  ISLAND  INN  AND 
ITS  MEMORIES. 

IF  one  cares  to  inquire  about  that  mysterious 
prehistoric  race  known  as  the  lake-dwellers  of 
Switzerland,  he  can  do  so  to  his  heart's  content 
at  and  about  Zurich.  If  he  wants  to  dig  up  their 
remains  for  himself — and  has  plenty  of  money  and 
time  to  spare — there  is  nothing  to  hinder  him 
from  doing  so.  He  has  only  to  run  a  deep  plow 
through  places  along  the  shore  of  Lake  Zurich 
where  there  are  indications  of  peat,  and  it  is  al- 
most certain  that  sooner  or  later  he  will  come  on 
traces  of  a  primeval  village.  The  first  sign  of  it 
would  be  the  badly  decayed  fragments  of  a  thick 
stake  or  pile.  Sometimes  well-preserved  specimens 
of  these  piles  are  found  in  great  numbers,  though 
more  often  they  are  rotted  out  of  all  recognition. 
They  are  the  props  which  held  up  the  lake-vil- 
lages high  and  dry.  They  were  driven  into  the 
chalky  soil  of  the  lake-bottom,  where  they  stuck 


PREHISTORIC  LAKE-DWELLERS.  169 

fast.  In  the  unknown  centuries  which  have  flown 
since  then,  those  parts  of  the  lake  have  filled  up, 
peat  has  formed  to  the  depth  of  five  or  six  feet, 
and  on  top  of  this  are  two  or  three  feet  of  mold 
and  loam.  Having  struck  a  pile,  our  investigator 
must  go  straight  down  through  the  deep  peat-bed 
which  surrounds  and  underlies  it.  He  will  soon 
come  to  a  half-earthy  stratum,  in  which,  if  lucky, 
he  will  find  numerous  queer  things.  For  this  par- 
ticular  layer  may  contain  many  kinds  of  objects 
— useful  and  ornamental — once  highly  prized  by, 
if  not  indispensable  to,  the  comfort  and  happiness 
of  the  simple  lake-dwellers.  It  may  readily  be 
imagined  that  such  articles  would  accidentally  fall 
from  the  house  into  the  water  beneath,  there  be 
buried  in  the  mud,  and  never  be  recovered  by  the 
owners.  Doubtless  some  of  them,  when  broken 
or  worn  out  in  use,  were  thrown  down  there  with 
a  "  good-riddance." 

It  is  believed,  from  many  indubitable  signs,  that 
these  lake-houses  (built  of  wicker-work)  were  de- 
stroyed by  fire  to  an  extent  that  would  appall  any 
insurance  company  of  our  day  that  took  risks  on 
such  property.  You  see,  these  people,  like  some 
savage  tribes  now  existing,  had  much  difficulty  in 
starting  and  keeping  fire.  They  obtained  it  only 
by  the  rapid  twirling  of  a  pointed  piece  of  wood 
on  a  flat  piece.  The  friction  ignited  some  tinder- 


1 70  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

like  substance.  As  they  had  no  stoves,  hearths,  or 
chimneys,  this  precious  fire  was  kept  —  so  far  as 
modern  conjecture  goes — upon  a  stone  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  hut.  There  it  was  watched  night  and 
day  to  preserve  it  and  see  that  it  did  no  harm. 
But  occasionally  the  watchers  slept,  or  went  off 
fishing  or  courting,  and  then  the  fire,  as  is  its  mis- 
chievous habit,  caught  upon  the  nearest  combus- 
tible stuff.  And  so  in  five  minutes  poor  Mr.  Lake- 
Dweller  was  houseless  and  homeless,  and  all  his 
earthly  possessions  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  lake. 
It  was  a  great  piece  of  good  fortune  if  the  entire 
village  did  not  disappear  at  the  same  time.  Think 
of  such  a  catastrophe  occurring,  and  no  newspaper 
to  do  justice  to  it ! 

We  left  our  enthusiastic  explorer  with  his  boots 
ankle-deep  in  the  boggy  soil  beneath  the  peat-bed. 
It  has  cost  him  a  great  deal  of  money  to  lay  open 
the  treasure-bearing  stratum.  But  he  feels  amply 
rewarded  even  if  he  has  lighted  on  nothing  better 
than  the  stone  age  of  the  lake-dwellers,  for  there 
he  will  find  most  interesting  proofs  of  the  identity 
of  human  nature  in  different  ages  and  climes.  The 
earliest  period  in  their  shadowy  history  is  called 
"  stone,"  to  distinguish  it  from  the  "  bronze "  age 
that  followed.  In  point  of  fact,  the  former  over- 
lapped the  latter,  but  for  convenience  the  two  des- 
ignations are  employed  as  best  expressing  the 


THE  STONE  AGE.  1 71 

chief  characteristic  of  the  two  ages.  In  the  first, 
stone  was  the  material  out  of  which  hammers, 
adzes,  and  arrow-heads  were  made.  The  patterns 
of  these  closely  resemble  those  adopted  by  our 
North  American  Indians.  In  weight  as  in  shape 
there  is  no  recognizable  difference ;  and  the  same 
good  judgment  was  shown  in  the  choice  of  stones 
best  adapted  for  every  purpose.  The  most  skillful 
lapidaries  of  our  day  could  not  produce  finer  work 
in  porphyry,  flint,  and  crystal  than  may  be  found 
among  the  relics  of  the  lake-dwellers.  Though  a 
very  practical  people,  they  were  not  without  aes- 
thetic tastes.  Otkerwise,  in  making  their  rude 
pottery  by  hand  they  would  not  have  introduced 
decorative  lines  and  dots.  Nothing  could  be  more 
severely  simple  than  the  designs  which  appear  on 
their  water-jars,  cooking-vessels,  and  drinking-cups. 
The  lines  are  crossed  like  a  hedge-fence.  The  dots 
are  arranged  in  rows,  several  of  these  forming  a 
band.  You  there  see  the  art  of  pottery  in  its  in- 
fancy. Utility  was  the  chief  end  sought,  and, 
doubtless,  the  unsymmetrical  and  clumsy  pots, 
bowls,  pitchers,  and  goblets  of  the  lake-dwellers 
answered  their  purpose  admirably. 

As  to  the  fishing-nets  of  their  day,  no  improve- 
ment could  be  desired.  The  specimens  recovered 
are  made  of  the  strongest  hemp  lines,  of  large  size, 
with  "  bobs  and  sinkers."  Lake  Zurich  supplied 


172  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

the  table  with  excellent  fish  in  that  far-off  time,  as 
now.  And  the  lake-dwellers  were  mighty  hunters 
also.  Bones  of  the  bear  and  deer  and  all  the  wild 
animals  of  the  present  Switzerland,  with  those  of 
creatures  now  extinct,  are  mingled  with  the  other 
remains.  They  were  a  pastoral  race,  besides. 
They  raised  millet  and  other  cereals,  and  ground 
these  into  a  coarse  flour,  as  appears  from  samples 
of  their  baked  bread.  Instead  of  the  horse  they 
had  the  reindeer  as  a  servant,  and,  with  training, 
he  proved  a  useful  one.  For  aught  I  know,  he 
carried  his  master  into  battle — in  which  case  his 
speed  would  have  enabled  him*  to  make  a  quick 
retreat  when  the  enemy's  fire  of  arrows  became 
too  hot.  For,  alas !  the  lake-dwellers  were  either 
a  persecuted  race  or  an  aggressive  one  at  some 
stage  of  their  history.  Implements  of  war  are  the 
most  common  of  finds,  and  the  site  and  structure 
of  the  villages — so  far  as  we  understand  the  sub- 
ject— indicate  extreme  precautions  for  defense.  It 
is  evident  that  the  settlements  were  situated  at 
some  distance  from  the  old  shore  of  the  lake  and  ap- 
proachable only  by  boats,  or  possibly  by  a  bridge, 
which  could  be  raised  or  turned  on  a  pivot  at 
pleasure. 

It  might  be  the  fortune  of  our  patient  friend 
the  digger  to  strike  a  mine  of  bronze  implements. 
Then  he  would  realize  the  inventive  capacity  of 


THE  BRONZE  AGE. 


173 


the  lake-dwellers.  The  discovery  or  adoption  of 
the  art  of  combining  copper  and  tin  as  bronze 
stimulated  their  native  ingenuity  wonderfully.  It 
is  supposed  that  they  obtained  the  two  metals 
(rare,  if  found  at  all,  in  Switzerland)  from  England, 
Wales,  or  some  other  country,  in  the  course  of 
trade.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the  quantity  of  bronze 
in  use  was  large.  It  was  employed  for  every  pur- 
pose of  war  and  peace.  Spear-heads,  knives,  and 
daggers  or  swords  of  the  "  Roman  "  pattern,  lie  in 
the  stratum  by  the  side  of  coarse  needles,  hair-pins, 
bracelets,  and  other  articles  of  toilet  use  and  orna- 
ment. The  composition  of  the  bronze  is  about 
ninety  per  cent  of  copper  and  ten  of  tin.  This  is 
slightly  varied  at  times.  The  objects  distinctively 
ornamental  have  a  brighter  red  or  even  a  golden 
color,  and  are  really  beautiful. 

But  all  the  trouble  and  expense  of  attaining  this 
knowledge  about  the  lake-dwellers  of  Switzerland 
may  be  saved  by  the  diligent  searcher  for  truth. 
He  need  only  visit  the  magnificent  collection  of 
antiquities  at  Zurich  as  I  did,  and  learn  all  these 
things  much  better  at  second-hand.  But  he  will 
be  baffled  if  he  expects  to  discover  from  any  evi- 
dence before  him  how  many  centuries  ago  the 
lake-dwellers  lived,  and  suffered,  and  passed  away. 
Speculation  is  rife  on  this  subject.  Antiquaries 
hold  to  views  widely  different.  Where  they  dis- 


174 


ROUNDABOUT   TO  MOSCOW. 


agree,  it  is  not  for  the  humble  learner  to  decide. 
It  is  much  wiser  for  him  to  enjoy  unquestioningly 
the  inspection  of  these  remarkable  relics  of  a  pre- 
historic age  than  to  rack  his  brains  in  futile  efforts 
to  fix  the  precise  period  of  the  lake-dwellers  in  the 
eras  of  man. 

When  we  were  shown  into  a  chamber  of  the 
Insel  Hotel  at  Constance,  my  curiosity  was  at 
once  excited  by  the  singular  appearance  of  a 
room  which  opens  out  of  that  apartment.  It  is 
not  large  enough  for  a  parlor.  It  is  too  poorly 
lighted  for  a  study  or  boudoir.  It  has  three  nar- 
row windows  which  are  partly  overgrown  with 
ivy.  They  look  on  Lake  Constance,  which  then 
shone  a  deep  green  under  the  setting  sun.  The 
wall  of  the  chamber  at  the  place  where  the  two 
rooms  join  is  about  two  and  a  half  feet  thick.  Put- 
ting my  hand  upon  the  showy  paper  that  covers 
the  walls,  I  know  by  the  touch  that  these  are 
stone.  Then,  as  I  observe  that  the  little  room  is 
round  in  shape,  the  thought  flashes  upon  me  that 
it  is  part  of  a  tower,  and  perhaps  in  by-gone  times 
may  have  been  a  cell  in  which  somebody  was  con- 
fined. 

The  servant,  who  had  been  watching  me  in  an 
amused  manner,  then  made  his  dramatic  stroke. 
"  This  was  the  dungeon  of  John  Huss,"  was  all  he 


AN  ISLAND  INN  AND  ITS  MEMORIES.    175 

said.  And  it  was  enough.  His  words  recalled  the 
fact  that  Huss,  at  some  time  previous  to  his  exe- 
cution by  order  of  the  Council  of  Constance,  was 
imprisoned  in  a  Dominican  monastery  of  that  city. 
Now  the  "  Insel  "  is  that  identical  retreat,  trans- 
formed into  one  of  the  most  picturesque  and  inter- 
esting hotels  of  Europe.  The  venerable  cloisters 
have  been  preserved  intact.  The  great  refectory  of 
the  monks  is  now  a  restaurant  full  of  good  cheer  in 
meat  and  drink.  It  witnessed  scenes  of  revelry  in 
the  old  monastic  days,  as  one  may  gather  from  the 
jovial  inscriptions  still  preserved  on  the  walls.  The 
church  of  the  fraternity  is  now  the  immense  dining- 
room  of  the  hotel,  modernized  and  made  secular  of 
aspect.  This  building  was  a  stronghold  four  cent- 
uries ago.  Then,  as  now,  it  was  surrounded  by 
water.  For  this  reason  it  was  selected  as  one  of 
the  successive,  prisons  of  John  Huss.  There  he  was 
beyond  the  hope  of  rescue  by  his  friends  and 
partisans. 

Visiting  the  Guildhall  of  Constance  next  day,  I 
saw  additional  evidences  of  the  precautions  taken 
for  his  safe-keeping.  There  is  the  massive  door  of 
oak,  with  iron  bands  and  enormous  locks,  which 
was  rarely  if  ever  opened  during  his  confinement. 
For  a  little  wicket  in  this  door  served  for  the  in- 
spection of  the  prisoner  by  his  jailers  and  also  to 
pass  in  food  to  him.  There  is  the  great  stone  in 


176  ROUNDABOUT   TO  MOSCOW. 

the  dungeon-floor  to  which  he  was  chained.  The 
windows  of  the  cell  as  they  now  appear  are  small ; 
but  much  larger  than  the  old  apertures.  One  of 
these  openings  for  air  and  light  is  exhibited  at  the 
Guildhall.  It  is  only  a  slit  of  three  or  four  inches 
wide,  cut  through  the  thick  stone.  Among  the 
other  objects  relating  to  the  martyrdom  of  Huss,  in 
the  same  collection,  are  the  van  in  which  he  was 
borne  to  the  place  of  execution  and  the  brocaded 
chairs  occupied  by  the  Emperor  Sigismund  and 
the  Pope  at  the  council.  In  the  plain  of  Briihl,  just 
outside  the  city  of  Constance,  one  may  see  a  rude 
memorial  which  marks  the  place  where  Huss  and 
later  on  Jerome  of  Prague  were  burned  at  the 
stake.  It  is  a  great  rock,  quite  rough,  covered 
with  ivy  and  bearing  appropriate  inscriptions.  A 
tall  iron  railing  prevents  a  near  approach  to  the 
spot. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

CARLSBAD — PRAGUE — DRESDEN. 

IF  people  would  take  only  half  the  pains  to  keep 
their  health  that  they  do  to  recover  it  when  lost 
they  would  be  spared  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  At 
Carlsbad — the  fashionable  spa  of  Austria — we  found 
everybody  getting  up  at  five  or  six  o'clock  to  drink 
doses  of  scalding  brine.  A  light  leather  strap 
slung  across  the  shoulder  of  each  person  supported 
a  porcelain  mug.  The  wearer  took  his  place  in  a 
long  queue,  and  the  procession  moved  slowly  on  to 
the  fountain.  Carefully  surveying  the  patients  as 
they  stood  in  line,  one  could  see  that  they  were 
mostly  a  "  damaged  lot,"  as  the  auctioneers  say. 
Their  dress  and  bearing  indicated  that  they  belong 
to  what  is  called  "  good  society."  Their  ailments 
are  the  probable  results  of  indolence  and  high  liv- 
ing. If  overfeeding  is  the  matter  with  them,  then 
Carlsbad  is  the  very  place  for  their  cure.  For  I 
have  never  known  a  town  where,  at  the  hotels,  the 
minimum  of  portion  and  the  maximum  of  price  are 


1 78  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

so  scientifically  adjusted  in  the  interest  of  the 
landlords.  It  is  bad  manners  to  lick  the  platter 
clean ;  but  if  the  guests  of  the  Carlsbad  hotels  re- 
frain from  this,  they  miss  an  important  part  of  their 
meals.  It  may  be  all  very  well  for  the  landlords  to 
collude  with  the  doctors  for  the  benefit  of  patients  ; 
but  on  behalf  of  those  who  are  not  invalids,  and  are 
suffering  sharply  from  hunger,  I  protest  against  the 
universal  adoption  of  the  system. 

It  is  the  prescribed  rule  at  Carlsbad  to  take 
as  much  hot  water  as  possible  on  an  empty  stom- 
ach. Everybody  knows  that  there  is  more  avail- 
able room  in  the  human  frame  for  such  a  pur- 
pose in  the  early  morning  hours  than  at  any  other 
time  of  day.  And  so  we  find  all  Carlsbad  up 
with  the  sun.  This  rule  is  rather  hard  on  the 
brass  bands  of  Carlsbad.  For  the  municipal  ordi- 
nances require  them  to  play  lively  tunes  at  the 
principal  fountains  while  the  melancholy  proces- 
sions are  filing  on.  With  what  contempt  those 
mighty  drinkers  of  beer  and  wine  over  there  in  the 
orchestra  must  regard  all  the  people  who  think  so 
highly  of  hot  water !  It  seemed  to  me  as  I  looked 
upon  the  ruddy  faces  of  the  musical  performers 
that  the  continual  pounding  of  drums  and  wres- 
tling with  trombones  must  be  as  promotive  of 
health  as  any  other  known  form  of  manual  labor. 
But  of  course  it  would  be  hard  on  the  well  peo- 


THE  CARLSBAD    WATERS. 


179 


pie  if  every  patient  should  join  a  brass  band  to 
recover  his  "  tone." 

When  a  member  of  the  procession  reaches  the 
spring  which  is  his  goal,  he  unslings  his  porcelain 
mug  and  hands  it  to  a  boy  in  waiting.  The  water 
at  most  of  the  springs — they  are  many — issues 
with  some  force  amid  a  cloud  of  steam,  from  a 
small  pipe.  The  mug  is  filled  in  a  trice  and 
handed  back  to  its  owner.  If  he  likes  it  very  hot, 
he  gulps  it  rapidly.  If  he  prefers  it  lukewarm,  he 
lets  it  cool  a  little.  Many  persons  suck  up  the 
water  through  a  glass  tube,  as  if  to  prolong  the 
enjoyment.  The  Carlsbad  waters  taste  differently, 
and  perhaps  no  two  people  find  exactly  the  same 
flavor  in  the  outcome  of  the  same  spring.  With  re- 
gard to  the  stronger  waters  of  the  group,  one  often 
hears  it  said,  "  Why,  it  tastes  like  chicken-broth, 
with  too  much  salt  in  it !  "  If  this  is  true,  then  I 
can  only  say  that  some  of  the  salt  ought  to  be  ex- 
tracted and  the  water  put  on  the  bill  of  fare  of  the 
Carlsbad  hotels,  where  the  article  called  "  chicken- 
broth  "  does  not  resemble  the  real  thing  at  all. 
Because  of  this  pleasing  flavor  —  reminiscence  of 
the  full  meals  of  happier  days — the  drinkers  seem 
really  to  like  the  waters. 

As  each  person  can  have  only  one  mugful  at  a 
time,  he  must  go  back  again  to  the  tail  end  of  the 
line  as  often  as  he  wants  more.  This  gives  him 


!8o  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

plenty  of  exercise,  if  he  happens  to  want  two  or 
three  quarts  the  same  morning.  Meantime,  those 
who  have  dutifully  taken  their  doses — as  ordered 
by  some  medical  tyrant — saunter  up  and  down  the 
pleasant  walks  of  Carlsbad  and  chat  with  their 
friends,  and  make  themselves  as  cheerful  and 
agreeable  as  it  is  in  the  nature  of  things  possible 
for  a  human  being  to  be  an  hour  or  two  before 
breakfast.  No  time  of  day  could  seem  more  unfa- 
vorable for  flirtations.  But,  unless  all  the  usual 
signs  mislead  at  Carlsbad,  I  should  say  that,  as  in 
the  familiar  song,  "  the  old,  old  story  is  told  again 
at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,"  often,  in  and  about 
the  peopled  colonnades  of  that  place. 

The  Sprudel  Spring,  which  spouts  the  highest 
and  sends  out  the  most  water,  is  also  the  hottest. 
It  is  said  that  eggs  may  be  boiled  in  it ;  and  I  am 
prepared  to  believe  the  assertion,  after  observing 
the  timid  way  in  which  the  most  confirmed  drink- 
ers put  the  water  to  their  lips.  The  spring  is  ir- 
regular in  its  action.  At  intervals  varying  from 
five  to  ten  minutes  it  shoots  with  a  force  which 
makes  the  bystanders  step  back  to  avoid  the  scald- 
ing spray.  People  who  claim  to  be  wiser  than  the 
rest  of  us,  say  that  the  Sprudel  and  all  the  other 
springs  result  from  the  following  operations  in 
Mother  Earth :  The  water  of  some  river  or  lake 
in  the  vicinity  of  Carlsbad  filters  through  the 


PRAGUE.  181 

ground  and  between  the  rocks  to  a  depth  of  two 
or  three  miles  or  any  distance  you  like.  On  the 
way  this  water  becomes  saturated  with  salts  of 
various  disagreeable  kinds.  At  a  certain  point  in 
its  downward  journey  it  encounters  the  "inter- 
nal fires,"  or,  at  all  events,  a  heat  sufficient  to 
decompose  some  of  the  salts  in  the  water  and 
produce  an  explosive  gas.  This  gas,  in  its  turn, 
projects  the  heated  water  through  some  conven- 
ient hole  clear  to  the  surface  of  the  earth,  like 
shot  out  of  a  gun.  As  nobody  knows  anything 
about  what  takes  place  away  down  there,  this 
explanation  is,  perhaps,  as  good  as  any  that  may 
be  offered.  It  is  an  interesting  fact,  by-the-way, 
that  at  the  time  of  the  great  earthquake  which 
destroyed  Lisbon  and  shook  up  so  many  other 
places,  the  Sprudel  stopped  flowing  for  three  days ! 

Sign-painters  ought  to  make  a  good  living  in 
Prague.  For  its  population  is  about  equally  di- 
vided between  Germans  and  Bohemians,  and  each 
race  prefers  its  own  language  to  that  of  the  other. 
As  a  result,  the  enterprising  merchant  is  obliged 
to  hang  out  signs  which  may  be  read  by  both 
races.  In  order  to  catch  the  custom  of  those  who 
can  not  read  at  all,  he  also  calls  the  pictorial  art 
into  play.  Everybody  can  understand  the  picture 
of  a  sack  of  flour  standing  on  end,  or  of  loaves 


182  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

of  bread,  or  of  bundles  of  hay  or  wood,  or  a  pile 
of  coal,  or  a  man  pulling  a  tooth.  But  these  em- 
bellishments are  reserved  for  the  poorer  quarters. 
In  the  really  handsome,  newer  parts  of  Prague 
the  double  sign  suffices  to  meet  the  demands  of 
all  intelligent  purchasers  among  the  two  peoples. 
As  every  cashier  and  clerk  is  expected  to  under- 
stand both  German  and  Bohemian  well  enough 
to  sell  goods  to  either  race,  you  will  readily  see 
that  accomplished  linguists  are  a  necessity  in  the 
business  circles  of  Prague,  especially  when  French 
and  English  and  American  visitors  to  that  city  are 
not  uncommon. 

Though  differing  widely  in  race  and  language, 
the  people  of  Prague  are  one  in  the  matter  of 
dress.  Their  costume  is  that  of  the  rest  of  the 
world,  as  affected  by  that  great  equalizer,  the  rail- 
way. The  Graben  is  full  of  precisely  the  same 
persons,  externally  considered,  that  one  sees  on 
the  boulevards  of  Paris,  in  Oxford  Street,  or 
Broadway.  During  my  drives  and  walks  about 
Prague  I  did  not  note  a  single  item  of  attire  which 
might  not  be  found  in  the  most  conventional  of 
New  England  villages.  Jews  abound  in  Prague, 
but  not  one  of  them  could  be  identified  by  that 
peculiar  and  very  gloomy  apparel  which  is  worn 
by  their  brethren  in  some  other  parts  of  Austria 
— say,  in  Carlsbad.  There  the  Jew  is  known  afar 


EXCESSIVE  COURTESY.  183 

off  by  his  long,  flowing  black  robe,  matched  by 
a  cap  which  he  pulls  down  on  the  back  of  his 
head.  This  robe  lends  to  the  wearer  a  gravity 
and  dignity  in  full  accord  with  his  serious  face. 
The  Carlsbad  Jews  are  good-looking,  and  the 
human  parade  at  and  about  the  springs  would 
lose  much  of  its  interest  if  they  were  left  out. 
The  tiresome  uniformity  of  dress  which  we  find 
in  all  the  cities  of  Central  Europe  is  fast  robbing 
Continental  travel  of  a  charm  once  potent.  It  is 
bad  enough  to  have  the  hotel  bills-of-fare  every- 
where just  alike,  though  one  can  put  up  with  lack 
of  variety  if  the  food  is  well  cooked  and  whole- 
some ;  but,  when  one  sees,  on  all  sides,  the  same 
dresses,  even  to  the  cut  of  a  collar,  and  the  nice 
adjustment  of  a  neck-tie,  he  feels  cheated  out  of 
his  just  and  reasonable  expectations.  This  is  one 
of  the  worst  respects  in  which  pictorial  geogra- 
phies and  cyclopaedias  too  often  lead  their  readers 
astray. 

You  would  hardly  expect  ever  to  be  called  on 
to  complain  that  people  were  too  courteous.  Yet, 
when  it  involves  you  in  the  necessity  of  taking  off 
your  hat  and  describing  a  semicircle  with  it  every 
minute  or  two,  you  get  just  a  little  tired  of  the  ex- 
treme politeness  that  greets  you  all  through  Ba- 
varia and  Austria.  I  do  not  now  allude  to  the  pro- 
found bows  of  your  hotel  landlord,  your  porter, 


1 84  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

your  "  boots,"  and  your  cabman.  1  do  not  speak  of 
the  man  who  sells. you  something — if  it  is  nothing 
more  than  a  cake  of  soap — and  bends  almost  to  the 
floor  when  you  leave  his  shop.  These  men  have 
relations  with  you  which  make  their  courtesies  a 
matter  of  course.  You  do  as  you  please  about 
bowing  back  to  them.  As  a  rule,  you  do  it  if  you 
are  not  stiff-necked  and  hard-hearted.  I  now  refer 
to  the  army  officer  or  other  gentleman  who  doffs 
his  cap  to  you  most  politely  every  time  he  enters 
or  leaves  a  railway-carriage  in  which  you  are  sit- 
ting. But  I  have  chiefly  in  mind  the  pedestrians 
of  high  and  low  degree  whom  you  meet  in  great 
numbers  along  the  country  roads  of  Austria  and 
Bavaria.  These  men,  if  natives,  never  fail  to  bare 
their  heads  to  you.  And  you  must  do  the  same 
to  them,  or  lose  that  good  opinion  of  your  own 
manners  which  every  man  naturally  wishes  to  pre- 
serve. Perhaps  we  Americans  need  those  lessons 
in  politeness  which  are  forced  upon  us  in  some 
parts  of  Europe.  But  it  is  nevertheless  a  little 
trying  to  be  continually  required  to  exchange  the 
most  respectful  salutes  with  perfect  strangers.  I 
don't  think  there  is  any  danger  that  our  fellow- 
countrymen  will  ever  catch  the  habit  very  badly. 

The   superintendent   or  chief   inspector  of   the 
great  Picture-Gallery  of  Dresden  was  quite  indig- 


AMERICAN  ARTISTS.  ^5 

nant  when  I  asked  him  if  the  Saxon  Government 
intended  to  refuse  to  American  artists  and  students 
access  to  that  treasure-house,  as  had  been  reported. 
For  his  answer  he  sent  at  once  for  a  promising 
young  American,  who  was  then  copying  one  of 
the  masterpieces  of  the  gallery.  Placing  his  hands 
affectionately  on  this  young  man's  shoulders,  he 
simply  said,  "  No !  no !  impossible ! "  Then  he  fled 
from  the  scene,  as  if  my  question  had  stung  him. 
It  is  true,  as  I  have  since  learned,  that  Saxony, 
while  feeling  affronted  by  the  American  thirty  per 
cent  duty  on  the  paintings  and  statuary  of  her  sub- 
jects, does  not  propose  to  retaliate  by  excluding 
our  compatriots  from  her  world-famous  collections 
of  art.  On  the  contrary,  American  artists  are  very 
popular  there,  and  will  continue  to  be  welcome 
visitors  at  all  the  galleries.  The  Saxon  Govern- 
ment hopes  that  the  American  art-tariff  will  be 
abolished  or  reduced  some  day,  in  response  to  the 
demand  of  the  best  artists  of  our  own  country, 
and  without  the  pressure  of  any  reprisal.  If  one 
would  know  how  valuable  are  the  privileges  en- 
joyed by  American  artists  and  students  abroad, 
let  him  enter  the  famous  gallery  of  paintings, 
which  is  the  chief  glory  of  Dresden,  and  look 
around  him.  He  will  see  in  almost  every  corner 
some  person  sitting  before  a  renowned  picture  and 
copying  it  at  leisure.  Sometimes  the  picture  still 


1 86  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

hangs  on  the  wall,  in  which  case  the  body  and  the 
easel  of  the  artist  half  conceal  it  from  view.  Sev- 
eral masterpieces  which  I  wanted  to  inspect  closely 
were  partly  eclipsed  in  this  way.  Sometimes  the 
gem  is  taken  down  and  put  at  the  artist's  exclusive 
disposal.  You  find  its  wooden  back  confronting 
you  in  some  nook  of  the  gallery,  and,  if  you  try  to 
peep  round  for  a  look  at  it,  the  person  at  work 
copying  it  is  apt  to  make  you  feel  that  you  are  an 
intruder.  I  say  that  it  is  a  great  thing  to  enjoy 
these  advantages  over  the  general  public,  and  be 
able  to  derive  a  profit  from  them  by  selling  copies 
to  American  customers,  who  can  take  them  home 
duty  free.  One  may  not  like  the  thirty  per  cent 
tariff,  and  still  may  feel  most  kindly  disposed  to- 
ward every  American  artist  and  art-student  in  Eu- 
rope, and  earnestly  hope  that  their  privileges  will 
not  be  curtailed  in  the  least. 

There  is  one  room  in  this  picture-gallery  where 
I  have  not  yet  seen  an  easel  set  up  with  a  man  or 
woman  toiling  behind  it.  That  is  the  apartment 
solely  occupied  by  the  immortal  Sistine  Madonna 
of  Raphael.  Such  a  presence  there  would  seem 
almost  a  profanation.  For  that  greatest  work  of 
the  greatest  of  artists  is  a  shrine  before  which 
men  of  all  religions  and  of  no  religion  pay  the 
same  unaffected  homage.  You  remove  your  hat 
instinctively  as  you  enter  the  little  room.  You 


A   SILENT  HOMAGE.  1 87 

cross  the  floor  on  tip-toe.  You  gaze  upon  the 
wonderful  canvas  in  silence.  If  you  exchange 
words  of  admiration  about  it  with  your  compan- 
ion or  neighbor,  you  do  it  in  a  whisper.  As  you 
reluctantly  quit  the  place  to  go  directly  to  your 
hotel — for  nothing  in  the  gallery  interests  you  much 
after  you  have  seen  the  Sistine  Madonna — you 
realize  better  than  before  what  is  the  highest  and 
truest  mission  of  art  in  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

BERLIN — ITS   MILITARY  ATMOSPHERE. 

Two  men  sit  on  their  horses  like  statues  in 
front  of  the  Brandenburg  Gate  of  Berlin.  They 
wear  spiked  helmets.  The  numerous  buttons  on 
their  tight-fitting  coats  gleam  in  the  sun.  Their 
weapons  are  swords.  When  you  ask  to  what 
crack  regiment  they  belong,  you  are  told  that  they 
are  policemen.  You  find  hundreds  more  of  the 
same  grave,  martial  persons,  mostly  on  foot,  in  the 
Berlin  streets.  You  soon  come  to  distinguish 
them  from  the  regular  troops  whom  they  so  much 
resemble.  But  it  is  hard  to  tell  where  the  police- 
man ends  and  the  soldier  begins.  If  the  moral 
effect  of  this  grim  constabulary  is  as  great  on  the 
citizens  of  Berlin  as  on  the  stranger  within  her 
gates,  then  there  are  few  breaches  of  the  peace 
committed  here.  At  the  rail  way -stations  you  see 
other  men  who  are  soldierly  in  their  dress  and  bear- 
ing. They  wear  the  well-known  fatigue-caps  with 
broad  colored  bands  and  a  little  circle  embroidered 


BERLIN— ITS  MILITARY  ATMOSPHERE.    189 

just  above  the  visor.  Their  breasts  are  decorated 
with  metal  badges,  of  which  the  crown  emblem  is 
a  part.  You  naturally  suppose  them  to  belong  to 
the  army,  and  to  be  ornamented  with  some  kind 
of  "  order,"  until  you  go  near  enough  to  read 
the  word  "  Portier,"  with  which  they  are  labeled. 
Thus  it  is  that  a  strong  military  air  is  imparted 
to  Berlin,  over  and  above  that  which  comes  from 
the  corps  in  garrison  here.  This  corps  comprises 
all  arms  of  the  service.  The  various  uniforms — 
sometimes  simply  neat,  but  often  very  showy — 
exhibited  in  Unter  den  Linden  during  the  evening 
promenade,  form  one  of  the  chief  attractions  of 
that  most  beautiful  of  Berlin  streets.  Such,  at 
least,  is  the  verdict  of  visitors — especially  Ameri- 
cans with  whom  army  accoutrements  are  happily 
things  of  the  past. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  the  most  peaceful- 
minded  person  may  catch  the  military  fever  here. 
The  people  of  Berlin,  like  all  other  Germans,  pro- 
test to  you  that  they  hate  war  and  desire  peace 
above  all  things.  No  men  can  look  more  pacific  as 
they  smoke  their  pipes  and  drink  their  beer,  and 
listen  to  the  best  music  in  the  "  Gartens."  Still,  it 
is  the  truth  that  they  impress  the  impartial  tourist 
as  the  most  warlike  race  in  Europe.  No  capital 
that  I  have  seen  compares  with  Berlin  in  the  pre- 
dominance of  military  ideas  and  suggestions.  The 


190  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

officers  and  privates  everywhere  on  view  are  but  a 
small  part  of  this  total.  The  aged  and  heroic  Em- 
peror, the  Crown  Prince,  Bismarck,  Moltke,  Roon, 
and  other  heroes  of  the  Franco-German  War,  are 
served  up  in  every  possible  way  in  the  shop-win- 
dows of  every  street.  Statues,  busts,  oil-paintings, 
photographs  of  these  distinguished  men  in  full 
"  regimentals,"  are  as  thick  in  Berlin  as  crucifixes 
and  other  religious  symbols  in  the  most  devout  city 
of  Southern  Italy.  It  is  a  patriotism  which  runs  to 
idolatry.  In  the  Konigsplatz  stands  a  splendid 
monument,  designed  to  commemorate  the  victori- 
ous issues  of  the  recent  wars  with  Denmark,  Aus- 
tria, and  France.  On  each  of  the  four  sides  of  the 
pedestal  are  bronze  reliefs  of  the  Kaiser  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  gallant  company.  If  one  is  not  tired 
of  these  repetitions  of  figures  and  faces,  he  may 
climb  an  interior  staircase  of  the  column  and  come 
out  on  a  balcony,  where  he  can  regale  himself 
with  the  sight  of  a  noble  work  in  mosaic,  in  which 
the  identical  celebrities  reappear  in  new  combina- 
tions and  with  still  more  brilliant  effects.  Visiting 
the  modern  picture  -  galleries  about  town,  he  can 
not  enter  a  nook  or  recess  so  obscure  that  it  does 
not  hold  at  least  one  first-rate  picture,  or  marble 
or  bronze  bust  of  the  Emperor  or  his  heir,  or  his 
great  Chancellor,  or  his  incomparable  Field-Mar- 
shal and  strategist. 


BERLIN— ITS  MILITARY  ATMOSPHERE.    191 

It  is  but  natural  that  the  Germans  should  love 
to  honor  the  illustrious  sovereign,  the  statesman, 
and  the  general  who  have  made  their  country 
united  and  powerful.  They  know  perfectly  well 
that  what  they  have  won  by  the  sword  can  be  kept 
only  by  the  sword  in  that  terrible  struggle  for  na- 
tional supremacy,  and  even  for  existence,  of  which 
Europe  is  the  theatre.  As  long  as  the  profession 
of  the  soldier  is  thus  exalted  above  every  other  by 
force  of  circumstances,  what  wonder  that  the  Ger- 
mans should  indulge  their  passion  for  hero-worship 
to  an  extent  unknown  in  all  modern  history  ? 

The  American  who  passes  through  France  and 
Germany  finds  this  question  a  very  interesting 
one:  How  long  will  it  be  before  these  two  coun- 
tries will  be  fighting  again?  He  takes  it  for 
granted  that  they  will  fight  some  time.  All  the 
signs  point  to  that  conclusion.  He  sees  troops 
incessantly  drilling  in  all  parts  of  Germany  and 
France.  If  he  can  read  the  native  papers,  he  finds 
in  almost  every  column  some  allusion  more  or  less 
covert,  but  unmistakably  unfriendly  in  tone.  If  he 
inspects  the  rows  of  yellow-covered  pamphlets  at  the 
railway  book-stalls,  he  will  be  sure  to  see  "  Avant  la 
Bataille,"  or  "  Pas  Encore,"  or  the  spirited  replies 
in  German,  of  which  those  and  other  sensational 
volumes  have  been  the  occasion.  Works  like  these 
are  multiplying  on  both  sides  of  the  frontier.  They 


192 


ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 


seem  to  be  pilot  balloons  sent  up  to  try  the  winds. 
It  is  true  that  the  authors  are  unofficial  persons. 
They  do  not  speak  for  nations.  But  they  do,  nev- 
ertheless, succeed  in  straining  the  relations  between 
countries  which  require  for  the  preservation  of 
peace  the  observance  of  mutual  forbearance,  if 
hearty  good-will  can  not  be  expected  of  them. 

A  great  many  Frenchmen  have  made  no  con- 
cealment of  their  burning  desire  for  revenge  ever 
since  the  war  of  iS/o-'/i.  But  in  my  previous 
visits  to  Europe  I  have  never  found  the  Germans 
so  outspoken  on  this  ticklish  subject  as  at  present. 
Every  one  with  whom  I  have  conversed  believes 
that  the  renewal  of  the  struggle  is  not  far  off.  No 
reason  is  given  for  this  belief.  It  is  one  of  faith, 
resting  on  portents  in  the  skies.  There  does  not 
seem  to  be,  in  Germany,  the  least  doubt  of  the 
sequel,  if  France,  single-handed,  should  attempt  to 
recover  what  she  has  lost.  But  there  is  some  anx- 
iety to  know  whether  she  would  have  Russia  as  an 
ally.  In  that  event  the  Germans  are  counting  on 
the  support  of  Austria  and  Italy.  These,  however, 
are  questions  of  the  future,  and  there  we  will  leave 
them,  with  the  single  remark  that  the  physical  and 
mental  health  of  Bismarck  and  Moltke,  as  trusted 
counselors  of  the  indomitable  Kaiser,  constitutes 
the  best  present  security  against  any  surprise  in 
diplomacy  or  war  at  the  expense  of  Germany. 


BERLIN— ITS  MILITARY  ATMOSPHERE.    193 

I  never  saw  in  any  one  place  in  France  as  many 
French  cannon  as  are  packed  in  the  great  court- 
yard of  the  arsenal  of  Berlin.  They  line  the  sides 
of  the  quadrangle,  and  point  to  the  center.  Each 
of  these  pieces  bears  some  terrible  name  — "  Le 
Vengeur,"  "  La  Terreur,"  "  Le  Destructeur,"  "  Le 
Volcan,"  "  Le  Borreau,"  and  the  like — which  now 
read  strangely  by  the  light  of  history.  Some  show 
ugly  scars,  like  bull-dogs  gashed  in  fighting.  A 
frequent  mark  is  the  tearing  away  of  a  lip  of  the 
muzzle,  the  effect  of  German  shot.  Others  have 
deep  scores  in  the  sides,  where  the  balls  struck  them 
and  glanced  off.  They  are  mostly  bronze  of  slen- 
der, graceful  shapes,  and  profusely  ornamented 
with  arabesque  raised  patterns.  They  have  a  cer- 
tain Gallic  look  of  trimness  and  taste,  and,  if  they 
failed  to  frighten  off  the  German  invader,  they  stilt 
survive  as  works  of  art  in  the  German  capital,  and 
fulfill  the  peaceful  mission  of  amusing  the  Berlin- 
ese.  I  roved  among  these  trophies,  and  patted 
them  on  the  back,  stopping  occasionally  to  de- 
cipher the  date  of  their  making.  The  year  is  cast 
in  bold  figures  near  the  mouth  of  the  gun,  and  is 
often  accompanied  by  the  name  of  the  sovereign 
in  whose  reign  it  was  born.  There  are  specimens 
dating  as  far  back  as  Louis  XIV ;  others  are 
marked  ''Napoleon,"  "Louis  XVIII,"  "Louis  Phi- 
lippe," and  the  larger  number  "Napoleon  III."  As 


194 


ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 


I  saunter  among  these  grim  souvenirs  of  the  wreck 
of  the  Second  Empire  and  the  terrible  humiliation 
of  France,  I  wonder  how  a  French  soldier  would 
feel  if  he  were  present  among  this  throng  of  exult- 
ing Germans,  with  whom  the  exhibition  is  a  treat 
inexhaustibly  popular.  But  then,  of  course,  no 
Frenchman  visiting  Berlin  could  bear  the  idea  of 
witnessing  these  proofs  of  his  country's  disaster. 
As  this  thought  passed  through  my  mind,  I 
looked  up  from  a  long,  handsome  gun — "  Le  Tour- 
billon  " — which  I  had  been  inspecting,  and  noticed 
a  martial  face  near  me.  It  had  piercing  black 
eyes,  a  clipped,  white  mustache,  a  prominent  chin, 
and  instantly  reminded  me  of  the  portrait  of  Mar- 
shal Pelissier,  Due  de  Malakoff.  The  lips  were 
grimly  set,  and  there  was  no  mistaking  the  frown 
in  those  corrugated  lines  of  the  brow  which  the 
civilian's  hat  did  not  conceal.  Caught  unawares, 
this  remarkable  face  showed  shame,  rage,  hate, 
and  revenge,  or  I  am  no  judge  of  the  human  coun- 
tenance. But  the  moment  the  stranger's  eyes  met 
mine,  this  expression  of  the  passions  vanished.  He 
smiled  forcedly,  and  whispered,  "  Pardon,  mon- 
sieur," then  moved  hastily  away,  as  if  to  avoid  con- 
versation or  observation.  The  incident  impressed 
me  deeply.  He  was  certainly  a  Frenchman,  per- 
haps an  officer  of  high  rank,  who,  while  visiting 
Berlin  and  out  of  his  uniform,  could  not  resist  the 


BERLIN— ITS  MILITARY  ATMOSPHERE.    195 

temptation  to  see  what  use  the  victors  were  mak- 
ing of  all  the  spoils  of  Sedan,  Strasburg,  and  Metz, 
and  of  those  venerable  trophies  of  Waterloo  which 
fell  into  Blucher's  hands.  He  was  too  young  for 
old  Pelissier ;  and,  besides,  that  hero  of  the  Crimea 
had  been  dead  about  two  years. 

After  glancing  at  the  immense  display  of  other 
cannon,  home-made  and  captured,  old  and  new,  the 
apparatus  for  mining  and  sapping,  the  elaborate 
miniature  plans  of  fortresses  and  (most  curious  of 
all)  the  topographical  models  of  historic  battle- 
fields, with  tin  troops  in  position  on  both  sides, 
just  as  they  were  drawn  up  at  some  crisis  of  the 
conflict — all  these  on  the  vast  lower  floor  of  the 
arsenal  —  I  climbed  an  easy  flight  of  stairs,  and 
found  myself  in  another  hall  of  trophies.  The 
objects  here  exhibited  were  French  muskets  and 
French  standards.  There  were  enough  chassepots 
to  equip  a  division  of  troops.  A  Frenchman  him- 
self, if  he  could  dismiss  his  patriotic  sensibilities, 
must  admire  the  highly  artistic  way  in  which  the 
Germans  have  grouped  these  shining  weapons. 
Thousands  of  them  are  set  in  racks,  and  look  like 
organ-pipes,  recalling  Longfellow's  lines  on  "  The 
Arsenal  at  Springfield  "  ;  others  are  displayed 
against  the  walls  as  spokes  of  a  wheel,  as  triangles, 
as  pentagons,  and  other  geometrical  forms,  beauti- 
ful in  their  perfect  regularity.  A  committee  of 


196  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

French  artists  could  not  have  treated  the  material 
more  effectively. 

Above  and  all  around  droop  the  flags  of  con- 
quered France.  Some  are  old  and  rent  by  bullets. 
I  read  among  their  folds  such  names  as  "Jena," 
"  Austerlitz,"  "  Borodino,"  "  Alma,"  "  Inkermann," 
"  Solferino,"  Others  are  new  and  untorn  and  un- 
stained. Their  fresh,  tricolored  hues  make  the 
long  gallery  gay  as  I  look  down  its  perspective. 
What  would  the  French  officer  say  (to  himself)  if 
he  could  gaze  upon  these  flags  of  his  country 
which  now  serve  only  to  decorate  the  enemy's 
arsenal  ?  There  he  is  again  by  my  side.  His  face 
is  pale.  His  lips  pinch  each  other.  His  eyes  shoot 
fire.  He  is  staring  intently  at  a  poor  old  flag  in 
tatters — a  mere  rag — on  which  I  spell  out  the  word 
"  Marengo."  No  wonder  his  patriotic  soul  is  cruel- 
ly disturbed  by  the  spectacle !  How  can  he  endure 
it  ?  As  I  ask  this  question,  the  object  of  it  is  sud- 
denly aware  that  I  am  looking  at  him.  His  eyes 
again  meet  mine,  his  face  mechanically  becomes 
smooth  if  not  pleasant,  and  his  lips  move  as  'if  mur- 
muring, "  Pardon,  monsieur ! "  in  apology  for  not 
more  successfully  commanding  his  emotions.  Then 
he  disappears  among  the  crowd — there  is  always  a 
crowd  at  the  arsenal — as  before,  and  that  is  my  last 
sight  of  this  mysterious  personage. 

Durinsr  one  of  our  rides  in  the  outskirts  of  Ber- 


BERLIN-ITS  MILITARY  ATMOSPHERE. 


197 


lin  we  came  upon  a  regimental  drill.  It  was  tak- 
ing- place  in  a  large,  perfectly  flat  and  dry  field  or 
parade-ground.  We  sat  comfortably  in  our  car- 
riage close  by,  and  watched  the  operations.  An 
entire  regiment  was  present,  with  all  its  officers  in 
command,  and  fine-looking  men  they  were,  from 
the  colonel  down  to  the  sous-lieutenant.  It  may 
be  largely  a  question  of  clothes.  Perhaps  the  long 
frock-coat,  with  two  rows  of  buttons  on  the  breast, 
and  the  spiked  helmet,  should  be  credited  with 
part  of  the  effect.  The  bobtail,  white  coats  of 
Austria,  and  the  short,  blue  tunics  and  red  breeches 
of  France,  somehow  detract  from  the  impressive- 
ness  which  should  adhere  to  the  followers  of  Mars. 
And  the  Pickclhaiibe  of  the  Germans  is  unquestion- 
ably more  warlike  than  the  French  kepi,  or  the  cloth 
cap  of  the  Austrians  awkwardly  set  on  the  back  of 
the  head,  or  the  plumed,  top-heavy,  round  hat  of 
the  Italian  bersaglieri.  The  German  officers,  for 
one  reason  or  another,  are  more  soldierly  of  aspect 
than  any  of  their  European  brethren  in  arms.  The 
studious  and  impartial  observer  must  also  give  the 
German  privates  the  palm  over  all  others  of  the 
rank  and  file,  the  English  troops  always  excepted. 
They  look  healthier,  larger,  stronger,  with  more 
staying  power,  than  the  common  soldiers  of  Aus- 
tria, France,  or  Italy. 

These  officers  and  these  men  are  machines  with 


198  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

souls.  We  are  looking  at  some  wonderful  auto- 
matic exhibition.  Every  arm  and  every  leg  of 
every  soldier  responds  to  the  orders  as  if  pulled 
by  invisible  wires.  When  they  march  in  company 
columns,  the  line  along  the  waist-buckles  of  the 
men  is  perfectly  straight.  When  they  ground 
their  muskets,  a  thousand  strike  the  earth  with 
one  thud.  To  me  the  most  remarkable  part  of 
the  show  is  the  goose-step  parade,  never  seen  out- 
side of  Germany.  It  is  a  survival  of  the  great 
Frederick's  iron  system.  The  men  throw  out  one 
leg  after  another  from  the  hip-joint,  without  a  bend 
at  the  knee.  There  is  absolute  uniformity  in  this 
strange  combined  movement.  A  line  of  puppets 
operated  by  steam  could  not  perform  it  better.  A 
Prussian  officer  would  take  that  as  the  highest 
compliment,  his  purpose  being  to  impart  to  these 
thinking  bodies  before  him  all  the  formalism  of  a 
machine  complete  in  every  part,  thoroughly  oiled 
and  working  faultlessly.  The  goose-step  parade  is 
the  pride  of  his  heart.  The  fierce  colonel,  who  sits 
on  his  coal-black  horse  at  a  little  distance,  and 
watches  his  regiment  with  merciless  eyes,  beams 
his  silent  approval  as  they  all  stride  toward  him, 
with  their  thousands  of  stiff  legs  rising  and  falling 
together  as  one. 

At  Munich,  on  the  way  to  Berlin,  I  had  seen 
Bavarian   soldiers  taking  their  gymnastic  exercise 


BERLIN— ITS  MILITARY  ATMOSPHERE. 


199 


out-of-doors.  The  same  severe  physical  discipline 
is  enforced  upon  all  the  conscripts  throughout  the 
empire  ;  but  it  is  not  often  that  the  tourist  catches 
them  in  the  act  of  training  every  muscle  in  succes- 
sion for  the  exigencies  of  a  campaign.  By  looking 
over  a  fence  which  separated  me  from  the  Munich 
drill-ground,  I  could  watch  the  performances  at 
close  quarters.  There,  within  a  rod  of  me,  were 
tough  young  fellows  playing  all  sorts  of  games. 
They  were  climbing  ropes  and  letting  themselves 
down  head-foremost.  They  were  jumping  over 
bars  four  or  five  feet  high  without  touching.  They 
were  scaling  barricades  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  high 
by  mounting  on  the  shoulders  of  comrades.  They 
were  crossing  imaginary  streams  on  narrow  planks. 
Some  of  them,  with  wire  masks  and  iron  breast- 
plates, were  fiercely  lunging  at  one  another  with 
bayonets  on  the  ends  of  muskets.  The  sharp  point 
was  covered  with  a  wad  of  stuffed  leather.  Hun- 
dreds of  men  not  thus  engaged  were  marching  inces- 
santly up  and  down  the  grounds  and  going  through 
the  manual  of  arms,  under  the  severest  of  tutors. 
When  I  had  looked  upon  these  men  and  these 
games  about  half  an  hour,  1  understood  better  than 
before  why  the  Germans  are  formidable  in  war. 

The  Emperor  and  Empress  were  at  Ems  in  mid- 
July,   the   time   of  my   visit.     Parliament  was  not 


200  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

in  session.  The  opera-houses  were  closed.  The 
month  was  in  no  sense  part  of  "  the  season."  And 
yet  the  hotels  and  pensions  were  full  and  prices 
"  way  up."  It  is  worth  while  to  know  the  special 
reason  of  this.  Berlin  was  holding  a  great  exhibi- 
tion of  pictures.  It  purported  to  take  in  "  the 
world,"  but  I  can  not  admit  this  claim,  for  America 
was  not  at  all  represented  in  the  long  galleries 
through  which  I  paced  in  the  vain  hope  of  finding 
some  scrap  from  the  brush  of  a  fellow-countryman. 
None  of  the  official  persons  whom  I  consulted 
knew  or  cared  anything  about  it.  One  or  two  of 
them  had  a  vague  impression  that  some  American 
artist  had  sent  in  something  after  the  catalogue  had 
been  printed,  but  could  not  "  spot  "  it  for  me.  So 
I  patriotically  hunted  for  myself,  and  after  much 
searching  gave  it  up.  Whether  our  artists  did  not 
care  to  send  coals  to  Newcastle,  or  whether  the 
managers  of  this  immense  picture-show  had  for- 
gotten to  invite,  or  had  declined  to  accept,  offer- 
ings from  the  United  States,  I  can  not  say.  Per- 
haps the  jealousy  and  feeling  of  resentment  which 
the  American  art  tariff  has  provoked  in  Germany 
may  explain  the  phenomenon.  Excepting  for  the 
regrettable  absence  of  contributions  from  America, 
the  Ausstellung  of  1886  wanted  for  nothing.  No 
better  collection  of  modern  European  paintings 
has  ever  been  made.  It  was  this  that  packed  Ber- 


FOUNTAINS  AS  ATTRACTIONS.  20 1 

lin  in  mid-July.  There  is  a  lesson  just  here  which 
should  be  taken  home  by  every  city  in  which  am- 
bition and  enterprise  are  not  yet  extinct.  Great 
galleries  of  fine  pictures  are  unfailing  attractions. 

Perhaps,  when  New  York  has  doubled  her  sup- 
ply of  Croton,  she  will  provide  a  fountain  worthy 
of  the  name.  Nothing  seems  to  captivate  a  crowd 
quite  as  effectually  as  a  big  jet  of  water.  It  must 
be  fired  into  the  air  straight  and  high.  It  makes 
little  difference  whether  the  stream  is  thick  or  thin 
at  the  nozzle.  At  the  Interlaken  Casino  there  is  a 
slender  fountain  of  this  kind.  Its  topmost  drops 
tremble  some  hundreds  of  feet  above  the  ground. 
No  one  dreams  of  quitting  the  scene  till  the  water 
ceases  to  play,  and  I  believe  the  spectators  would 
stay  there  all  night  if  it  were  not  turned  off.  At 
Dresden,  behind  the  Zwinger,  there  is  a  jet  of  far 
less  pretensions.  But,  while  it  is  playing,  every- 
body from  far  and  near  flocks  around  to  see  it. 
Visiting  the  park  of  Sans  Souci,  not  far  from  Ber- 
lin, I  found  the  great  fountain  just  as  irresistible  as 
all  of  its  kind  have  proved  everywhere  else.  The 
by-standers  never  tired  of  watching  the  sparkling 
column  as  it  shot  aloft.  They  would  hardly  move 
out  of  the  way,  even  when  its  spray  drenched 
them  as  the  wind  swayed  the  flashing  summit  to 
and  fro.  Nature  and  art  have  combined  to  make 


202  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

the  old  pleasure-ground  of    Potsdam  lovely.     But 
there  is  nothing  in  it  as  beautiful  as  its  fountain. 

The  linden-trees  in  the  great  street  upon  which 
I  look  as  I  write,  have  shed  almost  all  their  blos- 
soms. The  wind  brings  with  it  the  faintest  trace  of 
a  perfume  which  is  delicious  when  not  too  strong. 
The  renowned  Unter  den  Linden  must  be  the  para- 
dise of  thoroughfares  when  its  long  double  lines 
of  trees  are  in  their  full  flower.  Its  noble  palaces, 
museums,  universities,  and  other  public  buildings 
make  it  attractive  at  all  times.  But  its  wealth  of 
lindens  is  its  unique  charm  in  the  summer.  Only 
I  am  a  little  disappointed  not  to  find  among  the 
leafy  rows  a  single  specimen  of  the  tree  as  high 
as  that  which  is  so  common  in  Southern  Germany. 
But,  in  years,  perhaps,  they  will  grow  to  be  as  lofty 
as  their  predecessors  in  the  same  street  which 
were  cut  down  in  their  old  age  and  decrepitude. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

ST.   PETERSBURG  IN  JULY. 

THE  Russians  play  their  alphabet  of  thirty-six 
letters  for  all  it  is  worth.  Having  plenty  of  let- 
ters, they  string  these  out  into  long  words.  How 
our  German  friends,  with  their  addiction  to  poly- 
syllables, would  enjoy  such  alphabetical  resources ! 
What  tremendous  jaw-breakers  they  would  manu- 
facture !  Our  first  acquaintance  with  the  beauties 
of  the  Russian  language  was  made  from  the  win- 
dow of  a  sleeping-car  at  daybreak.  We  were  then 
in  Russian  territory,  far  from  the  frontier.  As  the 
train  jogged  along  without  stopping,  we  could  see 
the  Russian  names  of  the  stations.  At  first,  per- 
haps, there  would  be  four  or  five  regular  English 
letters,  mixed  up  anyhow.  Then  would  come  a 
Greek  character.  Next  would  occur  an  unmis- 
takable figure  3.  This  would  possibly  be  followed 
by  an  N  or  an  R  or  an  L  turned  upside  down  or 
otherwise  distorted.  And  in  the  midst  of  these 

capital    letters    there    would    be    a    sprinkling    of 
10 


204 


ROUNDABOUT   TO   MOSCOW. 


"  lower  case,"  as  printers  say.  The  whole  effect 
was  that  of  "  pi  "  of  the  most  exasperating  descrip- 
tion. I  can  imagine  no  mental  exercise  more  de- 
bilitating than  that  of  trying  to  spell  out  Russian 
signs  with  the  misleading  help  of  the  English  let- 
ters on  them.  Even  if  all  the  rest  were  smooth 
sailing,  there  are  fatal  snags  in  the  shape  of  grid- 
irons, double  saw-horses,  and  other  symbols  of  un- 
known import. 

On  the  tongue  of  a  polite  Russian  this  language 
is  musical  and  fluent.  We  heard  its  accents  first 
at  Wirballen,  where  the  baggage  inspection  takes 
place.  It  is  no  joke  for  persons  who  have  been 
traveling  for  fifteen  hours  from  Berlin  to  be  wak- 
ened at  midnight  and  put  through  a  custom-house 
ordeal.  As  I  stepped  off  the  train  into  the  cold 
and  damp  of  the  Wirballen  station,  a  pleasant  voice 
saluted  my  ear  with  a  long  sentence,  of  which  I 
caught  only  the  word  "  passport."  Looking  up,  I 
saw,  by  the  dim  light  of  a  lantern,  a  Russian  offi- 
cer of  gigantic  stature.  He  was  most  becomingly 
dressed  in  a  blue  tunic,  flowing  trousers  tucked 
into  highly  polished  boots,  an  Astrakhan  cap  with 
a  red  top  and  white  pompon,  and  a  long  sword 
trailed  from  his  side  to  the  floor.  His  large, 
healthy  face  beamed  benevolence.  If  he  had  asked 
for  my  pocket-book,  I  believe  I  should  have  given 
it  up  to  him  without  hesitation.  I  handed  him 


FRONTIER  INSPECTION.  205 

Mr.  Bayard's  valued  certificate,  with  the  single 
word  "  American."  You  should  have  seen  the 
smile  on  his  face  stretch  into  a  positive  laugh  of 
welcome !  He  bowed  profoundly,  and  pointed  the 
way  to  a  spacious  room  which  had  been  depicted 
to  me  as  a  torture-chamber. 

We  had  been  told  that  the  Russian  examination 
was  most  inquisitive  and  merciless.  We  had  heard 
that  all  English  books  and  newspapers  were  con- 
fiscated. Having  read  our  stock  of  these  on  the 
way,  we  were  ready  to  surrender  them  cheerfully 
to  the  Russian  censor.  But  we  were  expecting  to 
have  great  fun  out  of  a  quart-bottle  half  full  of 
lemonade  and  tightly  corked.  We  had  painted  to 
ourselves  the  disappointment  and  disgust  of  the 
officials  when  they  opened  that  bottle  in  pursuit  of 
brandy  and  found  only  water.  I  confess  I  was  al- 
most sorry  when  they  did  not  smell  or  even  look 
at  it.  As  for  the  books  and  papers,  these  gave  the 
worthy  men  no  more  concern  than  the  wisp-broom 
and  slippers.  Mind  you,  the  search  was  not  a  pure 
farce.  Those  engaged  in  it  did  not  look  at  you  all 
the  time  as  if  they  itched  to  be  bribed.  They  did 
not  examine  some  trunks  and  "  chalk  "  others  with- 
out opening  them,  and  then  expect  you  to  pay  for 
their  forbearance.  It  was  a  strict  and  honest  busi- 
ness throughout.  But  there  was  a  liberal  construc- 
tion in  favor  of  travelers.  I  had  some  paper  ru- 


206  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

bles  in  my  vest-pocket  for  an  emergency.  But 
slight  observation  of  the  men  at  work  convinced 
me  that  they  did  not  look  for  a  gratuity  from  me, 
and  that  possibly  they  might  be  affronted  if  I  of- 
fered them  one.  We  have  undergone  many  cus- 
tom-house inquisitions,  but  that  at  Wirballen  is  the 
only  one  in  which  there  was  not  something  strong- 
ly suggestive  of  bribes  or  gifts. 

It  was  this  same  national  politeness  on  the  part 
of  a  Russian  to  Americans  that  first  induced  us  to 
try  the  rail  route  from  Berlin  to  St.  Petersburg. 
At  Dresden,  where  we  took  train  for  Berlin,  the 
only  other  occupant  of  our  carriage  was  a  gentle- 
man of  middle  age,  with  a  finely  shaped  head  and 
a  shrewd,  kindly  face.  Some  trivial  incident 
started  a  conversation,  and  he  soon  learned  that 
we  were  Americans.  It  was  at  once  evident  that 
this  fact  thawed  any  little  fragment  of  ice  that  yet 
clung  to  our  intercourse.  Our  fellow-traveler  then 
proclaimed  himself  a  Russian,  and  spoke  with  feel- 
ing of  the  friendship  that  had  always  existed  be- 
tween his  country  and  America,  and  hoped  it 
would  be  lasting.  We  echoed  his  sentiments 
every  time,  you  may  be  sure.  These  international 
comities  having  been  exchanged,  we  proceeded 
to  extract  from  our  friend  some  much-needed  in- 
formation about  the  Russian  facilities  for  traveling, 
the  best  hotels  and  shops  in  St.  Petersburg  and 


KINDNESS   TO  AMERICANS.  207 

Moscow,  and  a  great  deal  else  in  respect  to  which 
our  guide-books  are  imperfect  or  stale.  His 
knowledge  of  all  these  matters  was  full  and  exact, 
and  I  took  mental  notes  of  his  advice,  which,  dur- 
ing our  whole  stay  in  Russia,  proved  of  great 
value.  A  talk  which  was  certainly  very  profitable 
for  us — and  in  which  he  manifested  the  utmost 
interest  and  willingness  to  assist  —  was  abruptly 
broken  by  the  arrival  of  the  train  at  the  German 
capital.  Rising  to  take  leave,  he  shook  hands  with 
us  heartily,  and  then  informed  us  that  he  was 
Count  Paul  Schouvaloff,  Russian  Embassador  at 
Berlin,  and  said  he  would  be  happy  to  be  of  any 
further  service  if  we  would  call  at  the  embassy. 
He  was  received  at  the  station  by  military  and 
other  attaches  of  his  staff,  and  driven  off  to  the 
palace  on  the  Unter  den  Linden,  which  is  his  offi- 
cial residence.  It  was  under  such  agreeable  aus- 
pices that  we  began  our  Russian  journey,  and  they 
were  but  a  foretaste  of  the  kindness  which  every- 
where met  us — as  Americans. 

The  trip  from  Berlin  to  St.  Petersburg  takes 
about  thirty-six  hours.  You  start  at  9  A.  M.  in  an 
express  train,  and  do  not  strike  the  "  sleepers  "  till 
you  reach  Wirballen.  The  Russian  conveniences 
for  night  travel  are  almost  perfect.  The  compart- 
ments are  large,  the  beds  good,  the  ventilation  is 
scientific,  and  the  motion  easy.  The  springy  gait 


208  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

of  the  carriage  rocks  you  to  sleep.  The  attendants 
are  all  alive,  and  do  not  ask  for  or  seem  to  expect 
fees.  The  train  stops  often  and  long  enough  after 
daylight  to  "  refresh  "  the  hungriest  and  thirstiest 
of  mortals.  At  the  tidy-looking  stations — wooden, 
one-story,  painted  yellow,  each  with  boxes  of  flow- 
ers in  the  windows — he  finds  glasses  of  delicious 
coffee  or  strong  tea,  "screeching"  hot.  The  tea 
is  served  from  the  samovar,  or  big  urn,  and  is 
on  tap  night  and  day.  A  slice  of  lemon  floating 
on  top  makes  this  cheering  drink  look  like  brandy- 
punch.  There  also  may  be  had  the  whitest  bread, 
the  most  golden  butter,  and  dainty  Russian  dishes, 
of  which  I  am  most  happy  to  recall  mutton  and 
rice  drowned  in  a  brown  sauce  that  would  kindle 
an  appetite  under  the  ribs  of  Death.  Such  com- 
forts and  such  luxuries  made  the  long  ride  from 
Wirballen  to  St.  Petersburg  unfatiguing.  The 
country  is  flat,  with  a  large  allowance  of  forest 
and  swamp,  and  is  sparsely  settled.  The  little 
aisle  of  the  car  was  a  common  meeting-ground 
for  passengers,  who  were  amiable  and  talkative. 

And  so  the  time  did  not  drag  badly  till  we 
rolled  into  the  Petersburg  station  (they  all  say 
Petersburg  here)  a  little  before  nine  o'clock,  P.  M. 
It  was  broad  daylight  in  effect,  and,  as  we  were 
driven  to  our  hotel  (d' Europe),  we  could  see  and 
enjoy  the  out -door  life  of  this  great,  modern- 


STREET  LIFE.  209 

looking,  wonderful  city  as  well  as  if  it  had  been 
high  noon.  There  were  signs  of  business  enter- 
prise and  prosperity  on  every  side.  The  drosch- 
kies  burned  the  pavement,  as  the  French  say,  but 
the  drivers  held  their  horses  well  in  hand.  These 
"cabbies,"  by-the-way,  are  almost  the  only  class 
here  whose  dress  is  not  European.  Their  long 
wraps,  like  bathing-robes,  buckled  about  the  waist, 
and  their  little  hats,  which  look  like  the  stove-pipe 
pattern  badly  crushed,  are  the  only  marked  oddi- 
ties of  attire  in  the  streets.  The  pedestrians,  al- 
though through  with  the  business  of  the  day,  walked 
rapidly.  The  general  aspect  of  the  city,  as  of  the 
people  we  saw,  was  more  American  than  French, 
German,  or  English.  But  for  the  maddening  in- 
scriptions on  the  shop-fronts,  and  the  golden 
domes  and  peculiar  crosses  of  the  Greek  churches, 
the  city  of  Peter  the  Great  might  pass  for  a  com- 
pound of  Chicago  and  Washington.  The  wide, 
straight  streets — the  Prospekts,  or  perspectives,  as 
they  are  called — remind  me  of  the  latest  type  of 
American  cities.  On  arriving  at  the  hotel,  I  again 
surrendered  my  passport  (which  had  been  counter- 
signed and  stamped  by  the  Russian  consul-general 
at  Berlin,  and  handed  back  to  me  after  a  brief  de- 
tention at  Wirballen).  It  was  returned  next  day, 
without  any  additional  mark  upon  it. 

The  famous  St.  Isaac's  Church,  about  which  so 


210  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

many  writers  rave,  does  not  impress  us  as  much  as 
we  expected.  Nothing  could  be  simpler  and  noth- 
ing richer  than  its  outside  and  inside.  It  is  im- 
mense, but  it  looks  small.  Its  great  dome  is  a  sheet 
of  pure  gold.  Its  interior  has  columns  of  malachite 
and  lapis-lazuli,  massive  shrines  made  of  precious 
metals  by  the  hundred-weight  and  blazing  with 
diamonds,  sapphires,  rubies,  and  emeralds.  One 
knows  that  millions  of  dollars  have  been  lavished 
on  all  these  things,  and  yet  the  whole  effect  is  not 
magnificent.  The  money  is  not  put  where  it  shows 
on  casual  inspection.  For  a  repetition  of  visits  I 
prefer  the  Kazan  Cathedral,  of  which  less  ado  is 
made  in  the  guide-books.  That  is  the  church  be- 
loved of  Petersburgers ;  while  it  is  not  dowered 
with  as  much  malachite,  lapis-lazuli,  gold,  silver, 
and  gems  as  fall  to  the  share  of  St.  Isaac's,  it  is 
very  rich  in  all  these  gifts,  and  it  has  one  shrine 
of  incomparable  splendor.  That  is  our  Lady  of 
Kazan.  The  Greek  Church  does  not  tolerate  im- 
ages among  its  symbols.  Reverence  for  the  Sav- 
iour, or  the  Madonna  and  Child,  or  any  of  the 
saints,  is  expressed  by  heaping  up  riches  upon  their 
portraits.  Our  Lady  of  Kazan  appears  in  a  gold 
frame  about  three  feet  square.  You  see  only  her 
face  and  hands.  The  rest  of  her  is  buried  under 
solid  gold  and  silver  crusted  all  over  with  the  cost- 
liest jewels.  She  is  a  special  object  of  veneration. 


RELIGIOUS  OBSERVANCES.  2II 

Princes  and  generals,  opulent  merchants,  beggars, 
old  and  young,  women  and  children,  all  sorts  of 
people,  may  be  seen  at  almost  any  hour  of  the  day 
struggling  to  kiss  her  hands.  Before  doing  this 
the  more  devout  bow  and  touch  the  cold  stone 
floor  with  their  foreheads  and  cross  themselves  re- 
peatedly. They  bring  little  votive  candles  which 
they  light  and  stick  in  places  provided  for  them. 
Priests  and  women  all  dressed  alike,  in  black  robes 
and  high  hats  minus  the  brim,  stand  around  with 
dishes  to  receive  donations.  I  heard  the  service 
intoned  by  lay  readers  with  deep-bass  voices,  but 
did  not  see  a  priest  performing  his  sacred  func- 
tions. The  religion  of  the  people  seems  very  real, 
so  far  as  outward  signs  reveal  it.  Shrines  are  set 
up  at  the  street  corners  and  in  the  fronts  of  shops 
and  houses,  and  no  Russian  fails  to  remove  his  hat 
and  cross  himself  and  bow  deeply  in  passing  one 
of  them. 

The  most  remarkable  curiosity  in  this  city  is  the 
perfect  skeleton  of  a  mammoth  dug  out  of  an  ice- 
bank  in  Siberia  nearly  one  hundred  years  ago.  It 
is  in  the  Museum  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences,  and 
I  lost  no  time  in  inspecting  the  bones  of  the  colos- 
sal beast.  He  stood,  in  his  original  full  dress,  as 
high  as  the  lamented  Jumbo  at  least.  His  general 
appearance  as  to  head,  tail,  trunk,  legs,  and  chest 
was  that  of  an  elephant.  But  his  tusks,  ten  or 


212  ROUNDABOUT   TO  MOSCOW. 

twelve  feet  long-,  curved  outward  and  upward,  as 
if  they  were  trying  to  tie  knots  in  themselves. 
Remains  of  mammoths  have  often  been  dug  up  in 
Russia,  but  this  skeleton  is  the  only  one  to  which 
some  of  the  flesh  and  skin  and  hairs  still  adheres. 
The  hide  is  about  an  inch  thick.  The  hair  is  half 
a  foot  long,  of  a  whitish  brown.  At  what  remote 
date  this  monster  was  browsing  around  in  Siberia, 
what  use  he  made  of  his  queer  horns,  and  how  he 
got  frozen  up  in  a  mass  of  ice  and  mud,  are  ques- 
tions which  I  leave  to  the  lively  fancy  of  Jules 
Verne. 

Most  smokers  are  proud  to  own  a  real  amber 
mouth-piece.  What  would  they  say  to  a  room,  sev- 
enty-five or  one  hundred  feet  square,  lined  on  all 
sides  with  amber  clear  to  the  high  ceiling?  That 
is  what  we  saw  at  Tsarskoe  Selo,  an  imperial 
summer  palace  near  St.  Petersburg.  The  precious 
fossil  gum  was  cut  and  dovetailed  so  as  to  make 
beautiful  figures  of  Cupids,  fruits,  and  flowers. 
The  whole  is  in  the  highest  state  of  polish.  It  re- 
flects the  light  not  only  from  its  surface,  but  from 
its  depths,  and  is  lovely  to  look  upon,  even  if  one 
does  not  think  of  the  treasure  expended  in  procur- 
ing all  that  rare  product  of  nature.  We  made  the 
weary  round  of  a  hundred  rooms,  all  gilded  and 
upholstered  magnificently,  and  full  of  art-objects 
from  every  part  of  the  globe,  but  saw  nothing  that 


THE  ASSASSINS'1    WORK. 


213 


spoke  so  eloquently  of  boundless  wealth  and  luxury 
as  that  amber-lined  chamber.  When  a  Tsar  under- 
takes to  do  something  really  splendid  in  this  line, 
he  leaves  all  his  brother  sovereigns  far  behind. 

I  shall  never  take  the  least  interest  in  the  band- 
chariot  of  a  circus  after  having  seen  the  forty  or 
fifty  gorgeous  state  carriages  of  the  Tsars.  The 
best  artists  and  artisans  of  all  Europe  have  con- 
tributed to  the  production  of  these  wonderful  ob- 
jects, in  which  expense  is  of  no  account.  They  are 
deeply  gilt  all  over,  and  each  panel  bears  a  paint- 
ing from  some  master's  hand.  In  the  midst  of  this 
brilliant  collection  stands  the  traveling-sledge  of 
Peter  the  Great,  made  entirely  by  himself,  and  an 
honest  and  strong  piece  of  work.  It  was  built  for 
service,  not  for  coronations  and  weddings,  like  the 
rest.  Adjoining  this  venerable  relic  is  a  coup/  of 
the  simplest  style,  to  which  our  courteous  guide 
points  as  he  says,  with  emotion,  "Alexander  the 
Second."  We  look,  and  are  startled  to  see  that  the 
rear  part  of  the  coupe  is  split  open  in  several  places 
and  a  little  sunk  down  on  one  side.  Then  we 
know  at  once  that  before  us  is  the  wreck  of  the 
carriage  in  which  the  monarch  sat  when  the  first 
bomb  exploded  beneath  it.  Within  as  well  as  with- 
out the  havoc  of  the  missile  was  terrible  to  behold. 
It  is  a  wonder  that  the  doomed  man  escaped  alive 
only  to  perish  by  the  second  bomb,  which  his 


214  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

murderers  held  in  reserve  for  him.  The  memory 
of  this  martyred  emancipator  of  the  serfs  is  cher- 
ished with  the  deepest  affection  by  the  people. 
His  portrait  is  one  of  the  commonest  in  the  shop- 
windows.  In  the  Cathedral  of  Saints  Peter  and  Paul 
(within  the  fortress  of  that  name)  is  the  tomb  of  the 
unfortunate  Emperor.  Like  the  sepulchres  of  his 
predecessors,  all  about  him,  it  is  of  marble  un- 
adorned. But  its  top  is  heaped  with  fresh  flowers. 
Above  and  around  are  hung  wreaths  of  immortelles 
and  other  floral  tributes  and  elaborate  mourning 
emblems  in  silver  and  gold  testifying  to  the  love  of 
his  subjects  and  the  admiration  of  men  of  other 
lands. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  FIRST  DROSCHKY-RIDE — SUNSET  AT  THE  ISL- 
ANDS— EARLY  MORNING  VIEWS  OF  THE  NEV- 
SKOI  PROSPEKT. 

"  DON'T  forget  Firkin !  I  will  write  his  name 
for  you  on  the  back  of  my  card."  Such  were 
the  closing  words  of  a  long  conversation  about 
Russia  held  between  myself  and  a  young  Ameri- 
can who  had  recently  visited  that  country.  The 
person  to  whom  he  referred  was  the  celebrated 
St.  Petersburg  guide,  with  headquarters  at  the 
Hotel  d'Europe.  This  injunction  to  remember 
Firkin  was  laid  upon  me  across  the  breakfast-table 
of  the  Hdtel  Grande  Bretagne,  Naples.  I  thanked 
the  young  American,  and  placed  his  card  thus 
indorsed  in  a  select  compartment  of  my  pocket- 
book.  About  two  weeks  later,  dining  one  day  at 
"  Schweizerhof,"  Lucerne,  my  neighbor  on  the 
right,  an  English  tourist,  led  up  a  desultory  talk 
to  Russia.  I  have  noticed  that  persons  who  have 
been  to  Russia  are  apt  to  apprise  others  of  that 


2i6  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

fact  upon  no  provocation  at  all.  He  also  said, 
with  great  emphasis — speaking  of  St.  Petersburg 
— "  By  all  means  secure  Firkin  as  a  guide  "  ;  add- 
ing, "  without  him  you  are  helpless."  Frequently 
afterward,  when  we  were  pursuing  our  devious 
journey  to  the  great  northern  capital,  some  mis- 
givings would  arise  about  difficulties  to  be  encoun- 
tered there  ;  and  then  these  would  all  vanish  when 
we  recalled  the  magic  name  of  Firkin. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  Hotel  d'Europe,  my 
first  inquiry,  after  securing  rooms,  was  for  this 
treasure  of  a  man.  The  polite  manager  scoured 
the  reading-room,  the  restaurant,  the  smoking- 
room,  and  all  the  passage-ways  of  the  ground- 
floor  in  search  of  the  famous  guide.  "  He  must 
be  out  now  with  a  party,"  explained  the  manager, 
in  French.  "  Did  you  telegraph  ahead  to  engage 
him?" 

Ah !  I  had  forgotten  that.  I  had  thoughtlessly 
assumed  that,  as  I  was  visiting  St.  Petersburg  out 
of  the  busy  season,  he  would  be  entirely  at  my 
disposal.  Rash  confidence ! 

Next  morning,  after  a  good  night's  rest,  my 
first  thought  was  of  Firkin.  Even  before  break- 
fast, I  resumed  my  inquiries  for  him,  and  could 
have  hugged  him  with  delight  when  he  was  at 
last  brought  before  me  by  the  courteous  manager 
himself.  He  was  a  man  of  middle  height  and  age, 


THE  MUCH-ENGAGED  FIRKIN.  217 

with  an  ingratiating  manner,  and  spoke  English — 
his  native  tongue.  He  looked  the  model  guide. 
He  smiled  and  shook  his  head  when  I  told  him  I 
wanted  to  engage  his  services  during  my  stay. 
Then  he  referred  to  a  tablet  in  his  hand,  and,  after 
carefully  inspecting  a  series  of  entries,  said,  "  You 
wish  to  see  the  most  remarkable  sights  in  Peters- 
burg, I  suppose."  I  nodded.  "  Well,  then,"  said 
he,  "  I  can  give  you  from  nine  to  twelve  day  after 
to-morrow.  That  is  the  best  I  can  do.  But  it  will 
afford  you  some  idea  of  the  manners  and  customs 
of  the  natives.  Strangers  have  no  conception  of 
them,  I  assure  you." 

Three  hours  seemed  very  little,  and  day  after 
to-morrow  was  far  off.  But  I  was  curious  to  learn 
something  about  the  real  native  life  in  Russia,  and 
jumped  at  the  proposition.  "All  right,"  said  I, 
"  we  shall  be  through  breakfast  by  nine  on  Wednes- 
day, and  ready  for  you." 

"  Breakfast,  my  dear  sir?"  he  cried.  "Dinner, 
you  mean ;  9  P.  M.  is  the  hour  of  starting.  Be- 
tween that  and  midnight  I  can  show  you  the  most 
wonderful — " 

I  laughed  at  the  mutual  mistake,  and  ex- 
plained to  the  accomplished  guide  that  the  sights 
we  had  in  mind  were  those  best  seen  by  day 
light  —  churches,  palaces,  museums,  picture-gal- 
leries, etc. 


2i8  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

«      "  Ah !  I  see,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "  there  is  a 
lady  along." 

Thus  ended  my  negotiations  with  Firkin.  I 
tried  in  vain  to  engage  another  guide  at  the  hotel, 
one  who  spoke  French  a  little.  But  he  was  also 
booked  far  ahead.  There  was  nothing  left  but  to 
trust  to  my  own  ingenuity  and  the  judicious  use  of 
"  tea-money,"  as  tips  are  called  in  a  land  where  tea 
is  drunk  even  more  generally  than  corn -brandy. 
I  bethought  myself  of  the  tourist's  best  friend — the 
head-porter.  He  was  a  Russian  giant,  amiable,  like 
all  oversized  men,  and  speaking  some  French.  He 
promised  me  his  best  assistance,  and,  I  will  say  at 
once,  was  very  useful.  Whenever  I  wanted  to  go 
anywhere,  he  would  give  all  the  directions  in  Rus- 
sian to  the  droschky-driver.  As  the  driver  was 
usually  stupid,  and,  I  should  think,  deaf,  from  the 
thundering  tones  in  which  the  head-porter  invari- 
ably addressed  him,  it  always  took  some  time  to 
get  us  fairly  started.  Woe  be  to  the  ishvoshtnik 
if  I  had  any  occasion  whatever  to  complain  of  him 
on  my  return,  as  I  sometimes  had  !  Then  the  head- 
porter  would  seem  to  grow  in  stature  to  about 
eight  feet.  He  would  shake  his  enormous  fist  in 
pretended  rage  at  the  blundering  fellow,  and  roar 
at  him  in  the  purest  Russian.  I  could  not  under- 
stand a  word,  but  I  knew  by  the  driver's  looks 
that  he  was  "  catching  it  hot."  It  is  on  such  occa- 


THE  FIRST  DROSCHKY-RIDE.  219 

sions  that  the  Russian  alphabet  of  thirty-six  letters 
comes  out  strong.  It  enables  one  to  do  justice  to 
the  subject.  The  man  would  quail  before  this 
frightful  shower  of  expletives  until  I  would  really 
pity  him,  and  touch  the  shoulder  of  my  good  friend 
the  head-porter  to  call  him  off.  After  several  repe- 
titions of  this  severe  but  wholesome  treatment,  the 
drivers  made  fair  substitutes  for  the  lamented  Firkin 
himself. 

Strange  as  the  statement  may  seem,  my  princi- 
pal difficulty  at  first  was  getting  back  to  the  hotel. 
Not  a  single  one  of  the  drivers  engaged  for  me 
knew  the  name  "  Hotel  d'Europe,"  which  was 
painted  in  letters  six  feet  long  on  the  blank  side 
of  that  immense  establishment.  I  was  obliged  to 
say  "  Nevskoi  Prospekt,"  which  they  all  under- 
stood ;  and,  when  they  had  entered  that  broadest 
of  avenues,  I  piloted  them  to  the  hotel,  which 
fronted  it.  Finally,  I  obtained  from  the  head-porter 
the  Russian  name  of  the  house — something  like 
"  Europeiskaya  Gostinnitza  " — and  made  that  work 
every  time. 

Most  of  the  streets  are  paved  with  large  cob- 
ble-stones, and,  if  the  droschkies  ever  had  springs, 
these  have  become  unelastic  by  much  bumping 
over  them.  One  mounts  a  droschky  in  St.  Peters- 
burg as  he  steps  into  a  gondola  in  Venice — with  a 


220  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

feeling  of  romance.  It  is  something  that  shows 
off  beautifully  in  pictures.  You  see  a  miniature 
victoria,  with  thick  little  wheels — the  front  ones 
just  the  size  for  barrows — drawn  by  a  horse  whose 
back  is  spanned  with  a  high  ornamental  arch  of 
wood,  to  which  bells  are  attached.  The  driver 
holds  in  the  flying  steed  with  both  hands — a  grace- 
ful attitude.  The  whole  turn-out  is  so  fairy-like 
and  different  from  any  other  elsewhere,  that  the 
tourist  looks  forward  to  a  ride  in  a  droschky 
as  one  of  the  greatest  treats  of  St.  Petersburg. 
Among  the  few  Russian  words  he  picks  up  as 
indispensable  are  poshoi  (go  ahead)  and  stoi  (stop). 
Armed  with  these,  he  sets  forth  on  his  first  ex- 
ploration of  the  city,  careless,  light-hearted,  pre- 
pared to  enjoy  everything,  and  particularly  the 
droschky. 

When  we  proceeded  to  seat  ourselves  in  this 
vehicle,  we  barely  found  room  for  two,  and  there 
was  no  back  to  it  except  a  little  rim,  three  inches 
high,  to  prevent  our  falling  out.  We  instinct- 
ively clung  to  each  other  for  support.  If  we 
were  a  little  crowded,  and  there  was  any  dan- 
ger of  our  tumbling  into  the  street  backward, 
those  very  facts  were  new  and  interesting.  The 
safe  and  comfortable  carriages  are  always  com- 
monplace, you  know.  We  really  felt  like  extoll- 
ing the  inventive  genius  of  Russia  which  had 


JOLTING  OVER  BOWLDERS.  221 

produced  something  totally  unlike  any  of  the 
equipages  of  Western  Europe.  There  was  fasci- 
nation in  the  risks  of  it.  The  ishvoshtnik  (I  roll 
this  word  like  a  sweet  morsel  under  my  tongue) 
starts  off  quickly.  This  gives  us  a  jerk,  but,  while 
holding  on  to  each  other,  we  have  each  a  spare  hand 
with  which  we^grasp  the  end  of  our  thin  cushion. 
We  are  not  thrown  out,  or  likely  to  be,  and  we 
murmur:  "What  fun!"  "How  exhilarating!" 
"  What  novel  sensations !  "  as  we  go  jolting  over 
the  bowlders. 

The  ishvoshtnik  has  a  good  horse,  and  is  proud 
to  show  him  off.  The  animal  and  his  master  seem 
to  understand  each  other  well.  The  one  bends 
back  his  ears,  while  the  other  pours  a  stream  of 
unintelligible  words  into  them.  No  whip  is  ever 
used.  We  both  feel  much  inconvenienced  by  the 
horrible  pavement,  though  we  heroically  suppress 
our  emotions.  We  suppose  that  we  will  soon  get 
used  to  it.  To  distract  our  attention,  we  try  to 
amuse  ourselves  with  the  enigmatical  signs  on  the 
shops.  We  study  the  strange  faces  in  the  streets. 
We  note  the  golden  domes  and  spires  as'  they 
flash  under  the  morning  sun.  We  make  every 
effort  to  lose  ourselves  in  the  contemplation  of  this 
interesting  city.  But  it  is  of  no  use.  The  cob- 
ble-stones keep  our  teeth  chattering,  and  at  times 
threaten  to  dislocate  every  bone  in  our  bodies. 


222  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

We  strike  a  bowlder  of  extra  size,  and  the  droschky 
bounds  up  a  foot. 

"  How  horrid !  do  stop  him,  do ! "  are  the  words 
I  now  hear.  I  yell  poshoi  at  the  driver.  A  voice 
at  my  side  says,  "  How  lucky  you  remembered  the 
word  !  "  The  man  hears  me,  and  he  calls  out  poshoi 
to  his  horse.  Now  we  shall  see  the  sagacity  of  the 
animal.  But  no  !  The  brute  does  not  understand 
his  own  language.  He  has  broken  his  trot ;  he  is 
galloping.  I  hear  a  shriek — "  Oh,  pull  his  what- 
d'ye-call  it,  do !  "  I  grasp  the  driver's  baggy  and 
greasy  robe  just  above  the  girdle  and  nearly  jerk 
him  off  his  seat.  He  looks  around  astonished,  and 
I  then  signal  him  to  check  his  horse.  He  nods, 
and  calls  out  stoi !  And  the  beast  comes  to  a 
halt.  Then  the  thought  flashes  upon  me  that  I 
have  got  my  two  Russian  words  mixed.  Such  is 
the  fact,  and  we  have  a  good  laugh  over  it  in  which 
the  driver  joins ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  the  mistake 
would  have  amused  the  intelligent  horse,  if  he  had 
been  told  of  it.  We  were  glad  to  get  back  to  the 
hotel  at  a  walk.  This  was  our  first  and  last  joint 
experience  of  a  droschky  in  the  rough  streets  of  St. 
Petersburg,  though  for  little  trips  about  town  I 
tried  it  alone  and  became  somewhat  hardened  to  it. 

Late   one  afternoon,  the  head-porter,  who  was 
always   making  useful    suggestions,   said    to    me, 


ALONG   THE  NEVA.  223 

"  Have  you  seen  the  sun  set  ?  "  I  told  him  I  came 
from  the  land  of  the  setting  sun.  "  But  you  must 
see  it  set  here  !  "  pursued  the  good  fellow.  And 
before  I  could  object,  he  whistled  a  springy  phaeton 
out  of  the  court-yard  of  the  hotel  where  it  had  been 
standing  awaiting  orders.  We  stepped  into  the 
carriage,  and  he  gave  directions  in  Russian  to  the 
driver.  We  were  bound  to  a  summer  garden  or 
fashionable  park,  situated  on  what  is  known  as  "  the 
islands."  We  crossed  the  Neva  for  the  twentieth 
time,  perhaps,  as  it  divides  the  great  city  in  twain 
and  lies  between  the  Hotel  d'Europe  and  many 
places  of  interest;  and  I  again  admired  its  noble 
breadth,  its  tranquil  flow,  the  dark  steel-blue  of  its 
waters.  From  any  of  the  bridges  the  view  along 
the  quay  is  striking.  The  most  imposing  public 
buildings  face  the  Neva.  The  private  edifices  on 
the  same  alignment  are  only  less  stately.  It  is 
here  that  the  visitor  recalls  Paris  as  he  has  seen 
it  from  the  Pont  de  la  Concorde ;  only  the  Neva  is 
twice  as  wide  as  the  Seine.  And  this  suggestion 
of  Paris  is  strengthened  when  his  eye  catches  a 
reminder  of  the  dome  des  Invalides,  in  the  golden 
hemisphere  of  St.  Isaac's.  But  for  the  frequency 
of  the  gilded  bulbs  and  the  square  Greek  crosses 
that  shine  above  the  horizon  of  roofs,  there  is 
nothing  Russian  or  peculiar  in  the  general  view  of 
St.  Petersburg. 


224  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

Across  the  river  we  pass  through  streets  desti- 
tute of  novel  features.  The  fact  that  we  are  in  the 
Tsar's  capital  invests  all  things  with  a  certain 
glamour.  We  are  far  from  home,  and  feel  as  if  we 
ought  to  be  rewarded  for  our  trouble  in  getting 
there,  by  the  constant  exhibition  of  strange  things. 
But,  save  for  the  puzzling  signs  and  the  universal 
custom  among  the  poorer  classes  (and  all  the  mili- 
tary) of  tucking  trousers  into  boots,  and  the  low- 
wheeled  droschkies  with  their  drivers  in  badly- 
crushed  hats  and  tunics  like  blue  meal-bags  loosely 
tied  in  the  middle,  little  challenges  our  wonder 
or  admiration.  We  leave  the  busy  streets  for 
the  green  and  shady  gardens.  These  seem  in  no 
wise  different  from  public  grounds  elsewhere. 
The  trees — spruces  and  firs  preponderating — are 
the  same  that  thrive  in  all  parts  of  Northern  Eu- 
rope. The  summer  flowers  are  equally  familiar 
to  us.  There  are  restaurants,  with  people  in  the 
latest  Paris  styles,  sitting  in  the  open  air  and  drink- 
ing tea  or  something  stronger  ;  and  bands  are  play- 
ing for  their  delight  just  as  they  do  in  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne  or  Central  Park.  The  roads  are  macad- 
amized and  free  from  dust.  Our  carriage  is  luxuri- 
ous and  from  the  depths  of  its  cushions  we  look  out 
idly  on  the  shaven  lawns,  the  clipped  shrubbery, 
the  crystal  ponds  full  of  swans  and  wood-ducks, 
the  birds  and  butterflies  spreading  their  wings  to 


SUNSET  AT   THE  ISLANDS.  22$ 

the  soft,  caressing  air,  and  shiver  to  think  of  the 
change  that  a  few  months  will  make  in  this  summer 
scene.  For,  perhaps,  as  soon  as  mid-October,  these 
little  lakes  and  the  Neva,  of  which  we  get  frequent 
glimpses  between  the  trees,  will  be  solid  ice.  and  all 
the  landscape  Arctic. 

But  we  are  coming  to  the  sunset.  We  emerge 
from  a  thick  wood  at  a  point  where  the  glorious 
river  widens  out  into  the  Gulf  of  Finland.  There 
is  nothing  to  interrupt  the  view.  Accustomed  to 
American  sunsets,  we  can  not  fully  share  the  enthu- 
siasm which  we  see  expressed  in  the  eyes  of  other 
persons,  sitting  in  carriages  and  looking  intently 
at  that  pile  of  gold  and  rubies  in  the  west.  The 
driver,  not  hearing  us  utter  any  exclamation  of  de- 
light, turns  half-way  round  and  points  to  the  set- 
ting sun.  I  nod  approvingly,  and  then  we  square 
off  at  it.  It  is  indeed  a  splendid  exhibition  of 
cloud-forms  and  luminous  effects.  Broad  bands 
of  light  shoot  aloft  like  the  pale  tails  of  comets. 
There  are  many  peaks  that  turn  rosy  as  if  with  an 
Alpine  glow.  Among  the  golden  clouds  one  traces 
the  shapes  of  domes,  as  if  another  St.  Petersburg 
were  sinking  into  night  over  there  in  the  west. 
This  is  a  brilliant  spectacle  for  the  lover  of  Nature. 
But  it  sets  us  thinking  of  home  and  friends;  so 
many  thousands  of  miles  away  in  the  direction  of 
sunset.  I  dare  say  the  other  people  there  looking 


226  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

at  that  wonderful  sky  as  we  do  with  alien  eyes, 
feel  the  same  tender  memories  come  over  them 
with  a  rush,  for  we  are  all  silent  together  for  a  few 
minutes. 

The  driver  took  the  liberty  of  breaking  the  spell 
by  moving  on.  We  rode  through  more  woods, 
past  more  lawns  with  parterres  of  flowers,  skirting 
more  lakes  looking  like  duplicates  of  those  we  had 
before  seen.  Finally,  after  about  fifteen  minutes 
of  this  pleasant  but  slightly  monotonous  route,  we 
came  out  upon  another  view  of  the  sunset.  It  was 
the  same  that  we  had  seen  before,  but  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  farther  along.  The  surrounding  scene  also 
appeared  identical  with  the  one  we  had  but  just 
left.  There  was  a  small  restaurant  of  fantastic 
design,  a  precise  copy,  even  to  the  large  gilded 
weather-cock,  of  one  I  had  previously  noticed,  in 
front  of  which  several  carriages  were  drawn  up, 
while  the  owners  or  riders  sat  on  the  stoop  eating 
ices.  And  there,  beyond  the  possibility  of  mistake, 
were  a  pair  of  bob-tail  grays  and  the  same  party 
of  four  ladies  finishing  up  their  light  repast..  We 
had  been  taken  to  the  same  place  twice  to  see  the 
same  sunset !  It  was  all  the  more  vexatious  as  we 
were  getting  hungry,  and  I  peremptorily  waved 
off  the  sunset  with  one  hand  and  motioned  with 
the  other  to  go  ahead.  The  man  evidently  under- 
stood me,  for  he  said  poshoi  and  off  we  started.  As 


THREE   TIMES  RUNNING.  22/ 

we  whirled  along  we  fell  into  a  talk  about  our  fut- 
ure plans  and  did  not  notice  the  scenery  through 
which  we  passed.  In  about  fifteen  minutes  more 
we  struck  another  view  of  the  sunset,  coming  ab- 
ruptly upon  it  at  a  turn  of  the  road.  It  was  still 
so  beautiful  that  we  could  not  forbear  to  look  at  it 
once  again,  although  it  was  already  twice  burned 
in  upon  our  memories.  Suddenly,  as  I  took  my 
eves  off  the  molten  splendor,  I  recognized  the 
same  old  restaurant,  with  its  whimsical  gables,,  its 
weather-cock  and  all  the  surroundings  complete, 
even  to  the  bob-tail  grays,  pawing  the  ground  and 
anxious  to  get  away.  The  four  ladies  were  just 
on  the  point  of  entering  their  carriage. 

It  was  maddening.  1  would  have  given  any- 
thing for  a  few  Russian  words  appropriate  to  the 
occasion.  Would  that  the  head-porter  were  there ! 
Oh,  for  one  minute  of  Firkin !  But  I  was  power- 
less. I  could  only  gasp,  "  Europeiskaya  Gostin- 
nitza!  Poshoi!"  at  the  same  time  shaking  my  fist 
at  the  driver.  He  understood  me  this  time  with- 
out a  shadow  of  doubt.  In  about  forty  minutes 
we  entered  the  court-yard  of  the  Hotel  d'Europe. 
When  the  head-porter  came  forward  to  assist  us 
in  alighting,  I  explained  to  him,  with  some  in- 
dignation, the  absurd  persistence  of  that  ass  in 
taking  us  to  see  the  sunset  three  times  running, 

when  once  was  all  we  wanted  of  it.     Contrary  to 
11 


228  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

my  expectations,  the  head-porter  did  not  interpret 
my  emotions  to  the  culprit,  but  calmly  explained 
to  me  that  everybody  who  went  to  the  Summer 
Garden  to  see  the  sunset  took  it  in  three  times 
before  leaving  the  grounds.  It  was  the  regular 
thing  to  do.  The  circuit,  which  is  thrice  made, 
was  part  of  the  fashionable  routine  never  omitted 
on  any  account.  Though  the  excellent  head-por- 
ter did  not  say  so,  I  could  read  in  his  face  surprise 
thai  I  should  complain  of  having  had  too  much  of 
a  St.  Petersburg  sunset. 

At  4.30  A.  M.  it  is  broad  daylight.  I  happen  to 
be  awake,  and  I  step  to  a  window  which  overlooks 
the  Nevskoi  Prospekt.  The  vast  Gostinnoi  Dvor, 
in  which  we  had  shopped  three  hours  on  the 
stretch  the  day  before  and  seen  but  little  of  its  in- 
exhaustible stores  in  that  short  space  of  time,  is 
closed  now.  In  two  or  three  hours  its  thousands 
of  shutters  will  be  taken  down,  and  its  swarming 
population  of  proprietors,  book-keepers,  clerks, 
porters,  and  small  boys  will  be  getting  ready  for 
another  day's  business.  The  eternal  lights  burn  at 
the  beautiful  Greek  shrine  in  the  square  opposite. 
The  roof  of  the  little  temple  is  covered  with  gold. 
Its  shape  is  that  of  a  Paris  kiosk,  but  greatly 
magnified.  A  Frenchman  seeing  it  for  the  first 
time  would  step  into  it  and  ask  for  "  Le  Figaro." 


THE  EVER-REVERED  ICON. 


229 


There  are  people  abroad  at  that  hour,  and 
every  one  who  passes  this  shrine  bows  profoundly 
before  it  three  times,  and  elaborately  crosses  him- 
self. A  carriage  drawn  by  two  coal-black  horses 
stops  in  front  of  it.  A  priest,  with  the  tall,  black 
rimless  hat  and  somber  sweeping  robe  of  his  order, 
descends.  All  spectators  bow  to  him.  He  passes 
through  the  ever-open  doorway  of  the  shrine  to  a 
place  where  I  can  see  gleaming  gold  and  flash- 
ing jewels  as  the  light  of  many  wax-candles  falls 
upon  them.  After  a  short  absence,  the  priest  re- 
turns, carrying  in  his  arms  a  large  square  some- 
thing. It  is  covered  by  a  white  cloth,  but,  as 
this  is  accidentally  displaced  for  a  moment,  I  see 
the  face  of  the  Saviour.  It  looks  solemnly  and 
tenderly  out  of  the  matted  gold  and  precious 
stones  which  overlay  it.  Three  women  in  black 
follow  it  in  procession  from  the  shrine  to  the  car- 
riage, with  bent  heads  and  slow  steps.  The  driver 
removes  his  hat.  The  heads  of  all  spectators  are 
bared,  for  this  is  the  principal  Icon  of  the  shrine 
near  the  great  Bazaar,  and  held  in  the  deepest  rev- 
erence by  all  orthodox  Russians.  It  is  about  to 
be  taken  to  the  priest's  house  for  some  solemn 
ceremony  of  renewed  consecration.  The  carriage 
proceeds  slowly  along  the  Nevskoi  Prospekt. 
Through  the  open  window  I  see  the  priest  hold- 
ing the  Icon  upon  his  knees,  and  bending  above 


230  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

it  in  the  attitude  of  prayer.  All  beholders  doff 
their  hats,  bow,  and  cross  themselves  as  the  adored 
object  passes.  A  young  officer  is  galloping  down 
the  street.  He  is  dressed  in  the  dandy  uniform 
of  some  crack  regiment.  He  wears  a  shako  with 
a  tali  feather,  and  a  gold  chain  about  his  neck ;  a 
long  saber  swings  from  his  waist;  the  blue  cape 
of  his  light  overcoat  is  thrown  back  to  disclose 
the  rich  scarlet  lining.  Even  at  that  early  hour 
his  mustache  is  waxed  to  fine  points.  He  looks 
like  a  lady-killer.  I  say  to  myself,  "  He  will  not 
bend  his  haughty  head  as  the  Icon  goes  by."  I 
am  greatly  mistaken.  He  removes  his  shako,  and 
bows  to  the  pommel  of  his  saddle.  I  notice  only 
one  man  who  pays  no  respect  to  the  Icon — that 
brawny  fellow  sitting  in  a  chair  on  the  sidewalk, 
exactly  opposite  my  window.  His  head  rests 
upon  his  breast,  and  he  is  evidently  fast  asleep. 
He  is  the  dvornik,  or  concierge,  of  the  house  in 
front  of  which  he  is  taking  his  nap.  He  is  sup- 
posed to  be  watching  the  premises  for  the  protec- 
tion of  the  inmates  and  their  property.  Perhaps 
he  spends  the  whole  night  in,  slumber,  after  the 
custom  of  unfaithful  guardians  in  all  climes  and 
ages.  If  so,  the  policeman,  who  is  now  coming 
slowly  down  the  middle  of  the  street,  with  a 
drawn  sword  in  his  hand,  must  discover  the  fact 
if  he  keeps  his  eyes  open,  and  will  perhaps  wake 


SOLDIERS  ASTIR.  231 

the  dvornik  to  a  sense  of  his  neglected  duty  by 
prodding  him  playfully.  He  glances  at  the  slum- 
bering man  as  he  saunters  by,  but  does  not  disturb 
him.  Doubtless,  requiring  charity  himself  on  that 
point  very  often,  he  is  prepared  to  extend  it  to 
others.  Soon  after  he  has  passed,  the  dvornik  gives 
a  slight  start,  raises  his  head,  pulls  a  bottle  from 
beneath  his  heavy  cloak,  takes  a  long  pull  at  it, 
and  goes  to  sleep  again. 

I  hear  the  heavy  tramp  of  feet.  Soon  a  bat- 
talion of  soldiers  comes  in  sight.  They  are  men 
of  the  medium  size,  young,  healthy,  and  strong. 
They  put  their  feet  down  firmly,  but  do  not  march 
well,  because  they  have  no  music,  not  even  a  drum 
and  fife.  Their  uniform  is  of  a  bluish-gray  color, 
and  they  wear  fatigue-caps  of  cloth,  slouchy  and 
unsoldierlike.  Blankets  are  wreathed  across  the 
right  shoulder,  and  hang  below  the  waist  in  an 
enormous  fold,  like  a  piece  of  boa-constrictor.  On 
their  backs  are  knapsacks,  with  small  tin  pans  ex- 
ternally attached.  The  men  look  about  as  well  as 
the  raw  conscripts  of  other  countries,  and  are 
probably  good  fighting  material  if  well  drilled  and 
handled.  At  their  head  rides  the  commanding 
officer,  a  young  fellow,  whose  bright  face  is  cloud- 
ed, as  if  he  were  leaving  somebody  or  something 
highly  prized  behind  him.  He  may  only  be  lead- 
ing his  men  to  their  morning  drill  in  the  exercise- 


232  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

grounds  near  the  arsenal.  But  it  is  more  romantic 
to  suppose  that  he  is  on  his  way  to  Central  Asia, 
and  that  he  will  engage  in  terrible  skirmishes  with 
the  border-ruffians  down  there,  perform  incredible 
deeds  of  valor,  capture  a  big  chief,  annex  a  prov- 
ince, and  then  come  back  to  St.  Petersburg  laden 
with  loot  and  glory,  to  receive  promotion  to  the 
rank  of  major-general  and  the  grand  cross  of  St. 
George  at  the  hands  of  the  Tsar. 

At  that  moment  a  still,  small  voice  calling  from 
the  adjoining  room  breaks  up  this  day-dream,  and 
ends  my  early  morning  view  of  St.  Petersburg. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

GRAND-DUKE  ALEXIS  —  THE  AMERICAN  MINISTER 
AND  HIS  CHASSEUR — RUSSIAN  PRESS  CENSOR- 
SHIP —  AN  INDIGNANT  BRITON  —  UNDISCOVER- 
ABLE  NIHILISTS. 

As  I  was  shuffling  some  card-photographs  at 
Daziaro's  (print-shop  on  the  Nevskoi  Prospekt),  I 
noticed  three  or  four  costume-portraits  of  the  same 
fine-looking  man.  They  were  all  full-lengths  and 
very  effective.  The  intelligent  face  seemed  famil- 
iar to  me ;  but  in  vain  I  tried  to  recall  its  owner. 
Neither  the  front  nor  the  back  of  the  photograph 
gave  any  clew  to  his  name.  Where  had  I  seen 
that  open  brow  with  the  curling  hair,  and  those 
large,  expressive  eyes?  I  sought  light  from  Dazi- 
aro.  "  The  Grand-Duke  Alexis,"  said  he. 

That  sent  my  memory  back  over  quite  a  gap  of 
years  to  the  time  when  a  youthful  scion  of  the 
house  of  Romanoff  visited  America  and  carried 
the  hearts  of  my  countrywomen  by  storm.  They 
unanimously  declared  that  he  perfectly  realized 


234  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

their  ideal  of  a  prince.  That  ideal  was  a  most  ex- 
acting one  ;  for  it  was  founded  on  fairy-stories,  and 
the  Arthurian  legends.  They  knew  nothing  of 
princes  in  real  life,  or  they  would  never  have  made 
their  standard  so  impossibly  high.  But  here  at  last 
was  a  prince  who  came  up  to  it,  with  his  stature  of 
six  feet  two  inches,  his  winning  face,  and  his  digni- 
fied yet  cordial  manner.  I  have  heard  that  there 
are  American  ladies  who  sacredly  preserve  to  this 
day  the  gloves  they  wore  when  they  danced  in  the 
same  quadrille  with  the  Grand-Duke  Alexis. 

With  my  countrymen  he  also  made  himself  a 
great  favorite  by  his  desire  to  please  and  readiness 
to  be  pleased.  For  these  reasons — and  because  of 
the  sincere  friendship  which  has  always  existed 
between  the  United  States  and  Russia — the  Grand- 
Duke  Alexis,  wherever  he  went  in  America,  had  a 
heartier  popular  reception  than  any  other  prince 
of  any  stock  who  ever  visited  us. 

I  could  not  help  feeling  a  desire  to  see  him  again 
in  the  flesh,  after  noticing  how  like  his  former  self 
(except  for  the  lapsed  years)  he  looked  in  the  pict- 
ures. The  Grand-Duke  Alexis  had  become  the 
admiral  of  the  Russian  navy.  I  thought  how  fine 
he  must  look  in  the  full-dress  uniform  of  his  rank. 
I  had  more  curiosity  to  see  him  than  the  Tsar  him- 
self, who  is  the  rarest  spectacle  now  vouchsafed  to 
the  eyes  of  the  stranger,  as  he  sticks  close  to  his 


GRAND-DUKE  ALEXIS. 


235 


palaces  and  private  shooting-grounds.  I  found 
myself  unconsciously  on  the  watch  for  the  sailor- 
prince  as  I  rode  about  the  city.  Sometimes  I 
would  see  an  officer  of  commanding  stature  ap- 
proaching us  in  a  barouche  at  a  dashing  gait,  and 
would  say,  on  the  impulse,  "  I  do  believe  that's  our 
friend."  "  Who  ?  Who  ?  "  "  Why,  Alexis,  to  be 
sure  !  "  "  Oh,  no,  it's  somebody  else."  This  hap- 
pened very  often,  for  showy  officers  in  stylish  turn- 
outs are  not  uncommon  sights  on  the  Nevskoi 
Prospekt. 

One  day  while  standing  in  the  spacious  vesti- 
bule of  the  Hotel  d'Europe,  I  noticed  the  people 
about  me  taking  off  their  hats.  Looking  up,  I  ob- 
served before  me  the  Grand-Duke  Alexis  himself. 
The  well-remembered  features  were  there,  minus 
the  high,  open  brow  which  was  concealed  by  a 
great  cocked  hat  loftily  plumed  with  green.  Tall 
as  he  was  in  America,  he  seemed  to  be  two  or 
three  inches  taller  now.  His  dark-green  uniform — 
probably  an  admiral's — fitted  him  well.  He  looked 
more  princely  than  ever.  I  took  off  my  hat  to 
him,  but  he  did  not  notice  it,  and,  in  fact,  he  re- 
turned nobody's  salute  as  far  as  I  could  see.  "  He 
used  to  be  more  democratic  in  America,"  I  said  to 
myself.  "  But  that  was  to  please  us.  He  is  in  Rus- 
sia now,  and  the  case  is  different." 

At  that  moment  the  excellent  head-porter,  who 


236  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

was  always  rendering  these  delicate  attentions  to 
the  guests,  whispered  in  my  ear — "  Voil&  l"embassa- 
deur  Amtfricain  !  " 

Never  was  pleasing  illusion  more  rudely  dis- 
pelled to  make  room  for  profound  wonderment. 
So  this  resplendent  being  was  the  American  minis- 
ter to  Russia.  What  was  his  name  ?  Oh,  yes,  I 
remember — Lothrop,  of  Michigan.  And  that  mag- 
nificent uniform  ?  He  must  have  been  a  general 
of  volunteers  at  home,  and  so  is  entitled  by  act 
of  Congress  to  wear  it  on  ceremonial  occasions 
abroad.  A  good  idea,  though  some  Americans 
who  have  no  uniforms  to  wear  may  ridicule  it  as 
pompous  and  fussy.  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  Rus- 
sians are  a  great  deal  more  impressed  by  all  those 
buttons,  feathers,  and  gold  lace,  than  they  would 
be  by  the  plain  black  suit  which  I  had  supposed 
that  Mr.  Lothrop  always  wore.  By-the-way,  I 
wonder  to  what  arm  of  the  service  Mr.  Lothrop 
belonged  ?  I  don't  remember  about  that  dark-green 
and  that  particular  shape  of  hat. 

Just  then  a  gentleman  in  complete  black  who 
had  been  following  the  American  minister,  drew  up 
alongside  of  him,  and  I  could  contrast  the  two 
styles  of  dress  to  great  advantage.  Prejudice 
apart,  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Lothrop 
looked  more  like  a  Minister  Plenipotentiary  and 
Envoy  Extraordinary  of  the  United  States  of 


THE  AMERICAN  MINISTER.  237 

America  in  his  military  garb  than  he  would  have 
done  in  civilian's  clothes. 

Can  I  believe  my  eyes  ?  The  minister  is  actu- 
ally taking  off  his  hat  and  bowing  very  respectfully 
to  the  somber-coated  person  by  his  side.  Do  my 
ears  deceive  me  ?  He  calls  him  "  Your  Excel- 
lency," and  seems  to  be  receiving  an  order  from 
him  like  a  servant.  The  next  instant  a  gentleman 
approaches  the  less  conspicuous  of  the  two  figures 
and  says  to  him  with  a  Chicago  accent,  "  The 
American  minister,  I  believe?" 

"  Yes,  sir  !  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  "  he  kindly 
asks. 

And  then  I  know  that  this  gorgeous  person  is 
attached  to  our  quiet  American  minister  as  chas- 
seur, and  that  it  is  his  business  to  herald  the  ap- 
proach of  that  functionary.  It  is  a  practice  found 
to  be  very  useful  by  our  highest  grade  of  repre- 
sentatives abroad ;  and  that  American  must  be  a 
ferociously  uncompromising  republican  who  would 
object  to  this  inexpensive  but  effective  display  of 
rank  and  dignity  on  their  part. 

One  afternoon  while  sitting  in  the  reading-room 
of  the  H6tel  d'Europe,  looking  over  the  last  num- 
ber of  "  Punch,"  and  trying  to  extract  a  laugh  from 
it,  I  became  aware  that  a  gentleman  near  me  Was 
desirous  to  open  conversation.  Out  of  my  side-eye 


238  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

I  could  see  a  monocle  glaring  at  me,  with  sup- 
pressed feeling  behind  it,  and  I  knew  by  the  fid- 
gety motion  of  a  pair  of  hands,  holding  a  newspaper 
aloft,  that  the  owner  had  something  to  say  if  I 
would  lend  him  an  ear.  I  laid  down  "  Punch," 
and  turning  toward  the  stranger  saw  at  once  what 
was  the  matter.  He  was  exposing  to  my  gaze  a 
newspaper — the  London  "  Saturday  Review,"  I 
think  it  was — several  pages  of  which  had  been 
badly  mutilated  by  scissors.  Bits  of  various  lengths 
had  been  snipped  out  of  its  reading-columns.  I 
immediately  recognized  the  work  of  the  Russian 
censor,  specimens  of  which  I  had  seen  before. 
The  man  who  displayed  this  mangled  "  Saturday 
Review  "  for  my  inspection  was  English.  Seeing 
that  he  was  somewhat  excited,  I  resolved  to  tease 
him  a  little  for  fun,  though  the  indignation  which 
blazed  from  his  face  was  honest,  and  certainly  not 
without  cause. 

"  I  know  that  this  is  a  land  of  tyranny,"  said  he, 
"  but  I'm  an  Englishman  and  not  afraid  to  speak 
my  mind.  Isn't  that  an  outrage  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  I ;  "  what  is  the 
trouble  ?  " 

"  This  paper  sent  me  by  a  friend  ;  see  the  holes 
in  it!" 

"  Ah !  yes,  he  has  picked  out  the  plums  for  his 
scrap-book,  and  sent  you  the  leavings." 


PX£SS  CENSORSHIP. 


239 


"  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  Englishman,  dropping 
his  single  eye-glass  in  his  emotion,  "  you  don't  un- 
derstand ;  this  is  the  beastly  work  of  the  Russian 
Government.  See  !  "  and  he  handed  me  the  paper. 
I  glanced  at  the  damaged  pages,  and  observed  that 
the  cuttings  had  been  made  in  articles  about  Rus- 
sia. The  job  had  been  neatly  done.  The  censor 
had  evidently  read  everything  in  the  paper  con- 
cerning Russia,  and  had  scissored  out  all  the  pas- 
sages that  were  uncomplimentary.  The  rest  of  the 
context  was  allowed  to  stand. 

"  And,  to  make  it  worse,"  said  the  Englishman, 
"  the  paper  was  detained  in  the  post-office  here 
five  days  at  least.  There's  the  original  wrapper 
with  the  London  post-mark." 

"Yes,  I  see.  The  censor  wanted  to  do  his 
work  thoroughly.  He  is  more  conscientious  than 
most  public  officials,  I  should  say." 

"  Conscientious,  indeed !  It  was  done  for  the 
express  purpose  of  annoying  an  Englishman." 

I  was  about  to  reply  that  perhaps  the  parts  of 
the  articles  cut  away  had  been  written  for  the  ex- 
press purpose  of  annoying  the  Russians,  but  I 
forbore. 

"  And  here  is  another  style  of  mutilation,"  he 
continued,  handing  me  a  copy  of  another  London 
paper.  "  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  " 

He  opened  a  sheet  which  showed  at  intervals 


240  ROUNDABOUT   TO  MOSCOW. 

large  square  or  oblong  patches,  apparently  a  mixt- 
ure of  lampblack  and  oil  applied  by  a  coarse  hand- 
stamp.  The  reading-matter  beneath  was  effect- 
ually obliterated.  These  daubs  looked  like  wood- 
cuts badly  printed. 

"  An  illustrated  paper  ?  "  I  said,  playfully. 
"Anyhow,  this  kind  of  cuts  is  better  than  the 
other;  you  get  your  paper  whole,  you  see,"  and 
I  smiled. 

The  Englishman  felt  hurt  by  my  frivolous  treat- 
ment of  his  grievance.  "  It  doesn't  seem  to  strike 
you  exactly  as  it  does  me,"  said  he ;  "  and  yet,  I 
should  think  that,  being  an  American,  you — " 

"  I  know  what  you  are  about  to  say,"  I  inter- 
rupted. "  Of  course,  I  uphold  the  liberty  of  the 
press  as  much  as  you  do,  and  equally  detest  this 
tampering  with  the  mails ;  but  then  I  don't  expect 
to  find  the  same  measure  of  freedom  here  that  I 
find  in  the  United  States  or  England.  The  Rus- 
sian Government  maintains  a  strict  censorship  of 
the  Russian  press.  And,  in  order  to  be  consistent, 
the  Government  also  pretends  to  take  great  pains  to 
keep  out  of  the  country  all  printed  matter  that  it 
does  not  like." 

"  Pretends,  my  good  sir  ? "  cried  my  English 
friend.  "  But  it  does  keep  out  all  such  matter — 
as  you  have  seen  from  these  two  specimens." 

"How  about  this?"  said  I,  taking  up  the  clean 


AN  INDIGNANT  BRITON. 


241 


and  whole  copy  of  "  Punch "  from  the  table. 
"  This  contains  two  or  three  jokes  at  the  expense 
of  Russia.  And  there  are  the  '  Illustrated  News ' 
and  '  Graphic,1  '  Figaro,'  '  Charivari,'  '  Independ- 
ance  Beige,'  '  Fliegende  Blatter,'  '  Kladderdatsch,' 
and — can  I  believe  my  eyes? — the  great  London 
1  Times '  itself !  All  regularly  taken  here  and  filed. 
You  will  find  plenty  of  hits  at  Russia  in  these 
papers,  and  not  one  of  them  has  been  cut  or  black- 
ened with  a  stamp.  I  can  swear  to  that,  as  I  have 
been  looking  all  through  them." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  he  answered.  "  But  these  all 
come  that  way,  because  they  are  addressed  to  the 
Russian  proprietor  of  the  Hotel  d'Europe.  The 
outrage — for  so  I  must  still  call  it — is  inflicted  on 
me  because  I  am  an  Englishman." 

It  still  gave  him  so  much  pleasure  to  imagine 
that  he  was  a  martyr  because  of  his  race  that  I 
hesitated  to  undeceive  him.  But  I  thought  it  bet- 
ter to  correct  his  erroneous  opinion  by  saying  that, 
if  he  would  ask  the  head-porter,  through  whose 
hands  all  the  mail-matter  came,  he  would  find  out 
that  the  newspapers  addressed  to  all  the  tran- 
sient guests  of  every  nationality  at  the  hotel  were 
treated  in  exactly  the  same  way.  The  letters,  he 
would  ascertain,  came  through  straight  enough, 
and  showed  no  signs  of  tampering. 

"  That  last  is  true,"  said  he. 


242  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

"  And,  as  for  the  papers,"  I  continued,  "  I  am 
told  that  a  line  from  your  embassador  or  your 
consul-general  addressed  to  the  Russian  Post-Office 
Department,  or  even  a  call  at  headquarters  from 
yourself,  will  cause  their  prompt  delivery  undis- 
turbed. Why  not  try  it?" 

"  I  would  not  condescend  to  ask  the  favor !  " 
was  the  haughty  reply. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  I,  shrugging  my  shoulders 
to  imply  a  desire  of  closing  the  somewhat  unprofit- 
able conversation — "  then  I  am  afraid  you  will  be 
obliged  to  put  up  with  it.  For  my  own  part,  I  am 
free  to  say  that,  while  I  am  in  a  foreign  country, 
I  will  not  hurriedly  condemn  laws  and  usages 
which  happen  to  be  unlike  those  in  America. 
When  I  don't  like  it,  I  will  leave  it." 

"  I  fancy  you  Americans  think  better  of  Russia 
than  we  Englishmen  do." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  was  my  reply,  as  I  buried  my- 
self once  more  in  the  pages  of  "  Punch,"  and  re- 
sumed silence. 

Our  English  friends  can  not  at  least  complain 
that  they  are  denied  freedom  of  speech  in  Russia. 
On  the  railroad-trains,  in  shops,  in  the  hotels,  and 
in  the  public  streets,  I  have  heard  them  talk  as 
boldly  and  freely  against  the  Tsar  and  his  system 
as  if  they  were  at  home.  I  have  sometimes  thought 
it  would  be  only  becoming  in  them  to  speak  a  little 


UNDISCOVERABLE  NIHILISTS. 


243 


lower,  or  else  tone  down  the  severity  of  their  criti- 
cisms while  experiencing  in  their  own  persons  the 
actual  toleration  of  the  government  they  so  fierce- 
ly denounce. 

Before  entering  Russia,  I  had  stuffed  myself — 
my  mind,  not  pockets  —  with  books,  magazine 
articles,  and  newspaper  letters  about  the  Nihilists. 
From  such  sources  of  information  I  had  learned 
that  the  Nihilists  represent  all  classes  of  Russian 
society  —  peasants,  priests,  soldiers  and  officers, 
noblemen,  and  even  the  imperial  family.  It  was 
said  that  ladies  of  rank,  wealth,  and  refinement 
were  among  the  most  active  propagandists  of  Ni- 
hilism. These  reports  had  taken  so  strong  a  hold 
of  me  that,  on  striking  Russian  soil,  I  began  at 
once  to  look  about  for  some  signs  of  the  presence 
of  this  widely  spread  and  terrible  doctrine. 

Among  our  fellow-passengers  from  Berlin  to 
St.  Petersburg  was  a  lady  accompanied  by  her 
maid.  She  had  a  coupt  lit  for  her  exclusive  use, 
through  the  window  of  which  I  could  see  her  from 
the  platform  of  stations  where  we  alighted  for  re- 
freshments. She  always  shrank  into  a  corner  of 
her  carriage,  as  if  to  escape  scrutiny.  I  noticed 
that  her  chin  was  disproportionately  large,  and 
that  her  lips  were  firmly  pressed  together.  Some 
one  told  me  that  she  was  of  high  rank  in  Rus- 


244  ROUNDABOUT   TO  MOSCOW. 

sia.  Whereupon  the  whimsical  thought  possessed 
me  that  here,  perhaps,  was  one  of  those  aristo- 
cratic female  Nihilists  of  whom  I  had  read  so 
much.  The  absurdity  of  the  idea  did  not  prevent 
me  from  keeping  an  eye  on  her. 

At  the  frontier  station  this  lady's  actions  were 
so  strange  that  I  watched  her  with  a  "  fearful 
joy."  She  was  profoundly  agitated.  Her  face 
was  pale  —  even  her  resolute  lips  sharing  in  the 
ashen  hue — and  she  strode  up  and  down  the  salle 
d'attente  unceasingly,  as  if  to  walk  off  her  nerv- 
ousness. She  had  three  large,  black,  strongly 
bound  trunks,  marked  with  Russian  initials  in 
white  paint.  I  knew  they  were  her  trunks  by  the 
anxious  glances  which  she  threw  at  them  from 
time  to  time.  Once,  when  the  porter  let  the  cor- 
ner of  one  of  them  fall  heavily  to  the  floor,  I  ob- 
served her  start.  "  Perhaps  it  contains  dynamite," 
I  said  to  myself,  half-laugh  ingly. 

When  her  turn  came  for  the  formalities  of  the 
douanc,  she  stepped  forward  with  a  boldness  which 
was  well  assumed.  She  and  her  maid  assisted  the 
Government  officers  in  unlocking,  unstrapping,  and 
unpacking.  Her  apparent  anxiety  to  have  the 
search  made  thorough  did  not  deceive  me.  The 
men  went  to  the  bottom  of  two  of  the  trunks — 
either  removing  the  contents  or  probing  them  with 
their  long  arms,  or  peering  among  them  with 


A  MYSTERIOUS  LADY.  245 

trained  eyes  and  smelling  hard  for  tobacco  and 
spirits  all  the  time.  They  found  nothing  contra- 
band. When  they  proceeded  to  explore  the  third 
trunk,  the  lady  made  a  strong  visible  effort  to  con- 
ceal her  emotion.  "  Now  for  bombs,"  I  thought, 
"  or  Nihilists'  tracts  at  the  very  least ! " 

It  was  fortunate  for  her  that  the  custom-house 
myrmidons  had  not  noticed  her  feverish  anxiety. 
But  they  were  busy  at  their  work,  not  over-suspi- 
cious, and  glad  to  be  through  with  a  midnight  job 
which  paid  them  nothing.  So  they  slighted  num- 
ber three,  simply  removing  and  putting  back  a  top 
layer  of  clothes.  Then  they  closed  the  lid,  and 
chalked  all  the  trunks.  I  could  see  the  mysterious 
lady  heave  a  sigh  of  relief,  which  I  could  not  help 
sharing  with  her,  though  it  left  unanswered  the  in- 
teresting question,  What  did  she  have  in  that  third 
trunk  ? 

Was  it  dynamite  ?  Or  revolutionary  pamphlets 
and  circulars?  Or  some  innocent  but  dutiable 
stuff  which  the  lady  carried  into  her  country  free  ? 
I  have  seen  the  sex  equally  agitated  on  the  docks 
of  New  York,  when  the  goods  which  had  been 
hid  away  were  nothing  more  dangerous  than  smok- 
ing-jackets  or  meerschaum  pipes  or  uncut  velvet. 
So  let  us  give  the  fair  unknown  Russian  the  bene- 
fit of  the  doubt,  and  imagine  that  the  extent  of  her 
offense,  if  any,  was  smuggling  in  a  costly  French 


246  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

dinner-dress  or  articles  de  Paris  dear  to  the  female 
heart. 

Perhaps  there  never  was  a  more  harmless  fel- 
low than  the  mujik  who  made  our  beds  and 
blacked  our  shoes  on  the  Russian  sleeping-car 
which  bore  us  to  St.  Petersburg.  But  that  man  had 
the  high  cheek  bones,  the  long,  unkempt  hair,  and 
the  generally  wild  look  which  I  had  once  noticed 
in  the  portrait  of  a  notorious  Nihilist  printed  in  the 
"  Illustrated  London  News."  I  did  not  then  know 
that  these  were  the  characteristic  Tartar  features, 
seen  all  over  Russia.  On  account  of  his  resemblance 
to  that  portrait  I  found  myself  suspecting  the  mu- 
jik of  Nihilistic  tendencies.  I  once  came  upon  him 
suddenly  while  he  was  sitting  on  a  stool  in  a  little 
recess,  at  the  rear  end  of  the  car.  He  was  mutter- 
ing to  himself,  and  pounding  his  knee  with  his 
brawny  fist.  How  could  T  help  thinking  that  he 
was  heaping  curses  on  the  existing  order  of  things 
universal,  and  that  that  self-inflicted  blow  of  his 
clinched  hand  expressed,  in  a  feeble  way,  his  long- 
pent  hatred  of  all  human  society  ?  And  yet  it  is 
possible  that  the  poor  man  was  only  cursing  his 
ill-luck  in  taking  a  counterfeit  ruble  for  good 
money. 

During  our  visit  to  Tsarkoe  Selo,  while  making 
the  tour  of  the  palace,  I  noticed  from  a  window  a 


AN  UNJUST  SUSPICION.  247 

gentleman  in  uniform  walking  slowly  through  the 
grounds.  He  had  in  his  hand  a  letter  which  he 
was  anxiously  scanning.  Attracted  by  his  soldierly 
bearing,  I  asked  the  guide  who  he  was.  "  Le  Prince  " 
(something  unintelligible  ending  in  sky),  "  monsieur" 
was  the  response.  Now,  here  was  a  prince  at 
home,  in  the  private  garden  of  an  imperial  palace, 
his  hair  white,  his  port  manly,  his  breast  bearing 
decorations — the  man  of  all  men,  one  would  say, 
least  likely  to  risk  the  assured  good  things  of  this 
life  by  linking  his  fortunate  self  to  the  Nihilists. 
And  yet  the  book-writers  and  the  newspaper  cor- 
respondents had  told  me  that  the  head  and  front  of 
the  awful  conspiracy  was  to  be  found  among  the 
palaces  of  the  empire.  I  owe  an  apology  to  a  pre- 
sumably loyal  and  devoted  subject  of  the  Tsar  for 
permitting  myself  to  suppose,  for  one  second,  that 
the  prince,  whose  name  I  deeply  regret  my  inabil- 
ity to  spelt,  was  perhaps  "  boss  "  of  the  Nihilists, 
and  that  the  letter  in  his  hand  was  written  by  some 
fellow-conspirator  in  Warsaw  or  Moscow.  Thus 
unjustly  suspicious  does  one  become,  after  reading 
so  many  real  or  pretended  revelations  about  high- 
life  Nihilists  in  Russia. 

Next  day  at  the  H6tel  d'Europe,  while  I  was 
looking  over  the  bill  of  fare  for  luncheon,  I  ob- 
served that  my  waiter — a  typical  Russian  in  aspect 
— hovered  near  me  more  closely  than  usual,  and  his 


248  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

appearance  indicated  that  he  had  something-  to  say 
to  me  privately,  in  the  French  which  he  spoke 
with  some  difficulty.  He  had  heard  us  talk  about 
America,  and  he  doubtless  knew  my  nationality. 
Now,  it  is  to  Americans  that  the  revolutionists  in  all 
parts  of  Europe  turn  with  full  confidence  for  sym- 
pathy. They  make  no  mystery  of  their  hatred  of 
kings  and  emperors  when  they  get  hold  of  an 
American  ear.  I  have  thus  become  the  reposito- 
ry of  several  confidential  opinions  about  crowned 
heads,  which,  if  they  had  been  known  to  the  police, 
would  have  caused  the  arrest  and  punishment  of 
the  speakers.  Therefore,  when  I  saw  this  quiet- 
looking  Russian  waiter  edging  up,  I  said  to  my- 
self :  "  He  is  going  to  whisper  his  longings  for 
republican  institutions.  It  will  do  him  good  to 
relieve  his  feelings.  I  am  afraid  he  is  a  Nihilist. 
He  looks  like  one.  I  must  condemn  him  for  that, 
of  course,  but  I  will  not  deny  my  sympathy  for  the 
oppressed,  even  in  the  heart  of  Russia." 

As  these  thoughts  floated  through  my  brain, 
the  waiter  stooped  down  to  make  his  mysterious 
communication.  I  cocked  up  my  ear  to  hear  him 
more  distinctly.  He  said,  in  a  half-whisper,  "  Mon- 
sieur, il  y  a  des  fish-balls  aujourdhui"  And  that 
was  the  whole  of  his  tremendous  secret.  Well, 
I  was  glad  it  was  nothing  more  serious  and 
laughed  heartily  at  my  groundless  misgivings. 


THE    WAITERS  SECRET.  249 

•  It  seems  that  the  accomplished  manager  of  the 
restaurant  had  lately  added  "  fish-balls  "  to  the  ex. 
tensive  list  of  his  special  dishes  for  particular  days. 
It  was  a  flattering  concession  to  American  tastes, 
made,  I  presume,  at  the  original  suggestion  of  some 
Bostonian  visiting  St.  Petersburg.  In  due  time, 
probably  pork  and  beans  and  brown  bread  will 
be  introduced  there  through  the  same  reforming 
agency.  Supposing  that  I  was  an  American,  the 
waiter  illogically  inferred  that  I  was  fond  of  fish- 
balls.  His  hesitation  in  making  the  announcement 
arose  from  his  imperfect  acquaintance  with  French, 
and  his  still  deeper  uncertainty  as  to  the  exact 
pronunciation  of  "  fish-balls." 

This  amusing  incident  cured  me  of  my  propen- 
sity for  surmising  that  this  or  that  Russian  man  or 
woman  might  possibly  be  a  disciple  of  Nihilism. 
There  may  be  a  great  many  Nihilists  in  Russia, 
and  they  may  belong  to  all  classes  of  society  ;  but, 
if  the  secret  police  can  not  find  them  out,  we  may 
be  sure  that  strangers  making  hasty  visits  to  the 
country  are  not  likely  to  be  more  successful  in  the 
search. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  HOLY  CITY  OF  RUSSIA. 

THE  "  sea  of  fire  "  which  Napoleon  saw  at  Mos- 
cow was  replaced  for  us  by  a  sea  of  green  roofs  as 
we  neared  that  city  at  10.30  A.  M.,  July  23d.  The 
sight  of  a  real  sea  could  not  have  been  more  re- 
freshing. We  had  been  traveling  fourteen  hours 
by  express  from  St.  Petersburg.  We  could  have 
read  coarse  print  by  twilight  as  late  as  1 1  P.  M.,  and 
then  again  as  early  as  two  in  the  morning.  It  was 
possible,  therefore,  to  see  most  of  the  country 
through  which  we  passed  by  simply  raising  the 
curtain  of  the  sleeping-car  window.  But  the  more 
we  looked  at  the  flying  landscape  the  less  we  liked 
it.  The  scenery  was  that  from  Wirballen  to  St. 
Petersburg  over  again — flat,  boggy,  densely  wood- 
ed, in  places  well  cleared  and  cultivated,  in  others 
with  plenty  of  cattle  reclining  in  the  fields,  but 
lightly  dotted  with  houses.  Nothing  except  mount- 
ains compensates  for  the  absence  of  human  life. 
We  could  have  shouted  for  joy  at  the  first  glimpse 


THE  HOLY  CITY  OF  RUSSIA,  251 

of  that  broad  stretch  of  pea-green,  two  stories  high. 
From  its  surface,  as  from  a  body  of  water,  rose 
domes,  turrets,  spires,  towers,  battlements  innumer- 
able. There  were  bulbous  forms  which  we  com- 
pared variously  to  onions,  radishes,  or  turnips. 
These  were  mostly  plated  with  gold,  which  shone 
intensely  in  the  keen  light  of  day.  Others  were 
silver  or  indigo -blue  or  red,  and  still  others 
matched  the  green  from  which  they  sprang.  The 
churches  of  Moscow  are  five  hundred  strong. 
Each  of  these  may  have  half  a  dozen  steeples. 
The  effect  of  the  whole  is  bristling.  The  city 
looks  like  "  many-spired  Milan "  on  a  large  scale, 
except  that  the  domes  interject  an  element  which 
one  misses  in  the  Christian  West.  The  place  of  the 
Kremlin  is  at  once  identified  by  the  thicker  growth 
of  bulbs  and  needles  which  we  see  near  the  center 
of  the  great  city.  The  terms  "  eccentric,"  "  whim- 
sical," "grotesque,"  "bizarre,"  "barbaric,"  are  used 
by  some  of  our  fellow-travelers  to  express  their 
feelings.  We  do  not  quarrel  with  their  epithets. 
We  can  only  say  that  for  us  there  can  not  be  too 
great  a  contrast  between  the  church  architecture 
here  and  that  which  we  have  seen  in  other  coun- 
tries of  other  religions.  We  thank  the  Tartars — 
if  they  are  the  responsible  paries — for  originating 
all  those  odd  shapes  which  cluster  in  the  fold  of 

the  Kremlin. 
12 


252  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

At  the  station  we  were  received  by  a  man  wear- 
ing a  long  blue  robe  girded  at  the  waist,  trousers 
tucked  into  his  boots,  and  a  sort  of  smoking-cap 
with  a  band  of  peacock's  feathers.  If  he  could 
have  spoken  a  word  of  English  or  French  or  Ger- 
man, the  charm  of  this  splendid  apparition  would 
have  vanished  instantly.  He  was  delightfully  Rus- 
sian from  top  to  toe.  When  we  said  "  Slaviansky 
Bazaar  "  (name  of  the  principal  hotel  here),  he  knew 
what  was  meant.  He  conducted  us  to  a  carriage, 
to  which  were  harnessed  four  white  horses  abreast, 
all  decorated  with  bells  and  tassels.  It  was  obvi- 
ous that  this  sort  of  thing  was  not  universal  in 
Moscow,  for  we  saw  no  other  men  in  the  streets 
dressed  in  that  way,  and  few  other  horses  thus 
caparisoned.  All  the  more  were  we  obliged  to  the 
proprietor  of  the  Salviansky  Bazaar  for  treating 
his  guests  to  the  revival  of  old  Russian  hospitali- 
ties. At  the  hotel  we  were  sorry  to  see  waiters  in 
the  claw-hammer  coats  and  white  neck-ties  of  Del- 
monico's.  But  then,  again,  it  was  a  pleasure  to 
find  a  smooth-faced  boy  with  his  long  hair  parted 
in  the  middle  and  a  tunic  of  such  a  cut  and  length 
that  he  looked  externally  just  like  a  girl.  When 
one  finds  these  things  at  Moscow  after  traveling 
thousands  of  miles  ^or  them,  he  begins  to  feel  re- 
warded. 

We  have  been  in  pursuit  of  good,  genuine  Rus- 


REAL  RUSSIAN  DINNERS.  253 

sian  dinners  in  and  out  of  the  hotel,  and  are  pre- 
pared to  say  that  they  fully  equal  the  best  French 
combinations  in  appetizing  and  nourishing  quali- 
ties. At  some  of  the  restaurants  you  must  read 
or  speak  Russian  or  starve,  unless  you  can  make 
the  waiter  understand  that  you  will  take  a  dinner 
at  a  fixed  price.  It  is  delightful  to  find  a  race  with 
the  moral  courage  to  invent  dishes  of  its  own,  with 
names  which  a  Frenchman  can  not  understand. 
The  soup,  to  begin  with,  would  be  incomprehensi- 
ble to  a  Parisian  chef.  Two  portions  of  it  would 
make  a  square  meal.  It  is  hot,  slab  broth,  with  a 
large  chunk  of  meat  (not  a  knuckle-bone)  in  the 
middle  of  it,  inviting  the  knife  to  cut  and  come 
again.  With  this  succulent  dish  is  served  pastry, 
looking  like  Yankee  "turn-overs,"  stuffed  to  the 
bursting-point  with  meat  hash.  Croquettes  and 
balls  of  meat — with  delicious  sauces — figure  in  al- 
most every  dinner.  The  conventional  "joint"  of 
other  countries — beef,  mutton,  or  veal — is  not 
wanting,  and  the  Russians  so  far  accommodate 
themselves  to  our  prejudices  as  to  give  us  chicken 
and  salad — but  the  latter  in  the  disappointing  form 
of  pickled  cucumber,  while  we  are  sighing  for  a 
little  crisp  lettuce.  I  had  almost  forgotten  the  fish, 
but  then  the  fish  is  served  out  of  place.  Here  it 
comes,  third  on  the  list,  following  a  meat  dish. 
For  dessert,  one  has  the  fruit  of  the  season.  Just 


254  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

now  the  strawberry  is  in  its  zenith.  They  bring 
us  a  rosy  pile,  which  we  are  expected  to  eat  out 
of  soup-plates  with  table-spoons.  Cream  is  plen- 
ty, but  powdered  sugar  scarce.  I  send  for  more. 
The  waiter  is  polite,  and  goes  for  it. 

When  he  returns,  I  am  conscious  that  he  is 
looking  me  hard  in  the  face.  He  wants  to  see 
what  manner  of  man  it  is  who  requires  to  qualify 
his  sour  berries  with  so  much  of  sweet.  He  had 
previously  been  looking  just  as  hard  at  my  blue 
gaiters.  I  am  beginning  to  discover  that  gaiters 
are  as  rare  here  as  fez  caps  in  Broadway.  In  fact, 
I  have  the  only  pair  in  Moscow,  and  should  be 
glad  to  believe  that  the  universal  gaze  directed  at 
them  is  not  one  of  secret  derision  in  this  land  of 
boots.  As  we  are  now  through  with  our  dinner, 
we  will  dismiss  that  subject,  only  adding  that,  if 
one  must  have  wine,  he  can  get  something  pure, 
light,  and  nice,  the  product  of  the  Crimea  or  Cau- 
casus. In  settling  my  score,  I  give  something  to 
the  waiter,  as  a  reward  for  his  spotlessness  ;  for, 
at  the  first-class  restaurant  where  we  have  just 
dined  (Moskovskia  Traktir),  he  is  dressed  in  com- 
plete white,  relieved  only  by  a  little  red  cord 
about  his  waist.  This  shining  habit  is  unstained 
by  a  single  drop  of  soup  or  gravy,  although  he  has 
been  whisking  plates  and  tureens  off  the  table  the 
moment  we  were  through  with  them. 


THE  BELLS  AND  RINGERS.  255 

On  Sunday  we  were  wakened  early  by  a  grand 
crash  of  bells.  As  almost  every  one  of  the  hun- 
dreds of  churches  has  a  set  of  four  or  five  bells, 
you  will  understand  that,  when  all  ring  together, 
they  compel  a  hearing.  None  of  them  are  very 
near  us,  and  the  sound  of  the  harshest  was  mel- 
lowed by  distance.  They  were  of  all  pitches,  from 
the  deepest  bass  to  the  shrillest  treble.  I  could 
not  make  out  a  tune  in  all  the  noise.  The  bells 
are  not  rung  as  chimes.  Each  one  seems  to  work 
"  on  its  own  hook,"  and  to  be  striking  a  continuous 
fire-alarm.  After  listening  to  the  clamor  for  half 
an  hour,  one  feels  like  turning  over  for  another 
nap.  But  the  attempt  is  useless.  The  bell-ringers 
are  as  punctilious  in  their  performances  as  if  these 
were  the  most  essential  part  of  religion.  They 
will  not  shorten  the  prescribed  hours  of  this  labor 
by  a  single  second.  Among  the  profound  notes 
that  come  booming  over  all  the  green  roofs,  I 
fancy  I  hear  the  voice  of  a  monstrous  brazen- 
throated  creature  whom  I  patted  on  the  back  the 
other  day.  He  is  kept  in  the  stronghold  of  a 
tower  within  the  Kremlin  about  one  hundred  and 
fifty  feet  from  the  ground.  Without  vouching 
for  measurements,  I  should  say  he  is  twelve  feet 
wide  at  the  flare  or  rim  and  fourteen  feet  high. 
His  tongue  weighs  about  two  tons.  Sounded 
with  the  ferule  of  my  umbrella,  he  gave  a  little 


256  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

muffled  roar.  The  man  in  charge  offered  to  tap 
him  gently  with  the  ponderous  clapper  swinging 
there.  But  I  did  not  care  to  hear  him  more  clearly 
at  short  range,  and  declined. 

But  one  would  willingly  pay  a  number  of  ru- 
bles to  hear  the  Tsar  Kolokol  struck,  if  that  de- 
throned monarch  of  all  the  bells  could  be  set  up 
again.  But  there  he  remains,  mutilated  and  silent 
forever.  The  pictures  of  the  great  bell  of  Moscow 
had  not  prepared  me  to  see  how  neatly  it  had  been 
broken.  The  detached  fragment,  which  now  stands 
by  the  side  of  the  ruined  bell,  might  have  been 
cut  from  it  with  a  knife,  so  straight  and  clean  are 
the  lines  of  breakage.  One  would  think  that  it 
might  be  put  back  again  and  the  last  trace  of  a 
scar  be  obliterated  with  solder.  But  that  would 
not  restore  its  voice  to  the  bell.  For  it  has  ten  or 
a  dozen  cracks,  some  of  them  many  feet  long,  and 
each  one  has  spoiled  it.  If  there  is  any  considera- 
ble percentage  of  silver  in  this  bell — as  seems  likely 
on  inspection,  and  if  it  weighs  two  hundred  tons, 
as  we  are  told — it  would  be  very  valuable  as  old 
metal.  But  it  is  still  more  precious  to  Moscow  as 
her  unique  and  most  interesting  treasure. 

The  ordinary  bass  voice  is  often  little  better 
than  a  growl  or  huskiness  of  the  throat.  No  one 
thinks  of  calling  it  musical.  But  I  never  heard 
tenors  that  thrilled  and  charmed  me  more  than  the 


MUSICAL  BASSES.  257 

basses  at  the  Temple  of  the  Saviour.  This  is  the 
costliest  and  most  splendid  church  in  all  the  Rus- 
sias.  Its  outside  is  marble  and  gold.  Its  inside  is 
a  lavish  display  of  the  precious  metals  thickly  set 
with  gems.  Every  fine  quarry  in  the  empire  has 
contributed  its  best  to  compose  the  tesselated  floor, 
the  wainscoting,  and  the  columns  of  the  marvelous 
structure.  It  was  built  to  commemorate  the  defeat 
of  the  French  invasion  of  1812,  and  was  only  re- 
cently completed,  after  forty-six  years  of  consecu- 
tive work.  As  one  walks  about  this  stupendous 
church,  and  transfers  his  admiration  from  one  ob- 
ject of  beauty  and  richness  to  another,  his  attention 
is  suddenly  called  off  from  everything  by  a  burst 
of  musical  thunder.  It  floods  the  interior  like  the 
crash  of  a  great  organ.  He  looks  all  around,  and 
can  not  see  what  causes  it.  Somewhere  in  an  ele- 
vated and  hidden  choir,  or  behind  the  massive 
gold  altar-piece,  are  the  singers.  The  voices  are 
all  basses.  There  are  three  or  four  distinct 
"  parts,"  some  pitched  so  much  higher  than  others 
that  they  seem  relatively  to  be  tenors.  Each 
note — even  the  lowest — is  clear  and  firm.  It  has 
the  sweetness  of  a  flute  with  the  sonorous  volume 
of  a  bassoon.  The  concealed  performers  are  utter- 
ing responses  to  the  gorgeously  attired  priests, 
whose  own  voices  are  deep  and  melodious,  and 
worthy  to  take  part  in  this  noble  choral  service. 


258  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

I  wait  for  half  an  hour,  hoping  that  the  singers 
will  execute  some  long  and  formal  piece.  But 
they  do  not,  and  I  retire,  having  learned  for  the 
first  time  of  what  a  bass  voice  is  capable  in  sacred 
music. 

Although  the  Russians  spend  so  much  money 
to  celebrate  the  failure  of  Napoleon,  they  really 
admire  the  audacious  genius  of  the  man,  and  make 
no  secret  of  it.  In  every  palace  and  museum  I 
have  visited  at  St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow  I  have 
seen  full-lengths  or  busts  of  him  in  marble,  bronze, 
or  oil.  Some  are  originals,  others  are  copies. 
One  painting,  entirely  new  to  me,  represents  him 
with  brown  hair,  banged.  In  the  Treasury  of  the 
Kremlin  the  guide  shows  you  two  camp  -  beds 
which  Napoleon  left  behind  when  he  evacuated 
Moscow.  He  is  always  indicating  to  you  the 
street  by  which  Napoleon  entered  or  withdrew 
from  the  city,  the  steps  up  which  he  walked,  the 
doors  through  which  he  passed,  the  chairs  in 
which  he  sat.  You  would  think  that  he  was  a 
Russian  hero.  The  people  still  point  with  a  cer- 
tain pride  to  the  marks  of  cannon-shot  and  bullets, 
and  say,  "  Napoleon  !  " 

Of  all  the  Russian  sovereigns,  next  to  Peter  the 
Great,  Catharine  the  Second  seems  to  have  been 
the  most  extraordinary.  The  tourist  is  continually 
running  across  her  statues,  her  portraits,  her 


CATHARINE   THE  SECOND.  259 

crowns,  her  jewelry,  her  silverware.  There  is 
more  of  her  personal  property  and  reminders  of 
her  of  one  kind  and  another  on  show  than  of  any 
other  Romanoff,  man  or  woman.  The  best  things 
in  all  the  palaces,  the  treasuries,  and  the  sacristies 
were  hers.  If  you  see  a  string  of  pearls,  each  per- 
fect and  as  large  as  a  hazel-nut,  even  before  you 
have  pointed  it  out,  your  guide  says,  "  Catharine 
the  Second."  If  there  is  a  scepter  with  a  particu- 
larly large  diamond  in  the  top,  and  the  handle 
knobby  with  rubies,  emeralds,  and  sapphires,  you 
know  who  wielded  it  without  being  told.  To  the 
physical  courage  of  a  man  she  added  the  delicate 
aesthetic  tastes  of  a  woman.  Other  rulers  may 
have  been  more  extravagant  than  she,  but  Catha- 
rine the  Second  understood  how  to  make  bound- 
less wealth  contribute  to  the  production  of  art- 
works that  still  live  to  be  admired.  The  gold- 
smiths, the  silversmiths,  the  lapidaries,  the 
sculptors,  and  the  painters  found  in  her  their 
most  intelligent  patroness.  In  their  turn  they  did 
their  utmost  to  perpetuate  her  memory.  Stone 
and  canvas,  metal  and  ivory  agree  in  representing 
her  as  tall  and  stout,  with  ample  brain-power,  a 
full  lower  face,  and  a  most  imperial  port.  She 
was  one  born  to  command,  and  she  would  have 
reduced  men  to  vassalage  by  her  indomitable  will 
if  she  had  not  gentler  arts  for  managing  them.  In 


260  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

St.  Petersburg  stands  a  magnificent  bronze  image 
of  the  Empress,  of  heroic  size.  Seated  at  the  base 
of  this  lofty  figure,  on  a  pedestal  running  all  about 
it,  are  nine  gentlemen,  also  in  bronze.  Their  post- 
ures are  sentimental  or  statesmanlike  or  warlike. 
The  guide-book  tells  us  they  were  favorites  of 
Catharine  the  Second.  In  that  capacity,  perhaps, 
they  thought  they  could  manage  her.  But  they 
were  mistaken.  A  woman  who,  when  in  full  army 
uniform,  looked  like  the  most  gallant  of  generals, 
was  not  putty  in  the  hands  of  any  favorite.  In 
that  amazing  collection  of  odds  and  ends  known 
as  the  Treasury,  inside  the  Kremlin,  there  is  an 
equestrian  portrait  of  Catharine.  She  bestrides 
her  horse  like  a  man.  In  front  of  the  picture  are 
two  saddles,  made  for  her  use  and  presented  to 
her  by  some  tributary  princes  or  neighboring  po- 
tentates, who  wanted  to  keep  on  good  terms  with 
her.  Her  horse,  already  burdened  with  her  gen- 
erous weight,  could  not  have  shared  her  admira- 
tion of  the  saddles,  for  they  are  heavy  with  all 
kinds  of  precious  stones,  numbered  by  the  hun- 
dreds ;  and  the  stirrups  and  the  shoes  which  the 
poor  beast  must  wear  in  her  honor  are  of  solid 
silver. 

In  a  corner  of  the  room  where  I  am  now  writ- 
ing, just  below  the  ceiling,  is  a  framed,  silver-gilt 
picture  of  the  Saviour  facing  the  east.  The  Vir- 


THE  REDEEMER'S  GATE.  26 1 

gin  and  Child  look  down  from  a  similar  position  in 
the  adjoining  bedchamber.  Every  room  in  this 
great  labyrinth  of  a  hotel  has  just  such  an  object 
of  reverence  which  the  pious  Russian  can  not  fail 
to  see  as  he  crosses  the  threshold.  To  this  he  pays 
his  homage  of  signs  and  bows.  He  does  it  a  thou- 
sand times  a  day  in  the  streets,  where  these  em- 
blems confront  him  at  every  turn.  He  does  not 
expect  people  of  other  religions  to  conform  to  any 
of  his  notions.  He  allows  them  to  walk  freely 
about  the  churches  and  stare  through  opera-glasses, 
in  a  languid  way,  at  objects  which  to  him  are 
sacred,  and  to  be  approached  only  in  a  spirit  of 
abasement  and  veneration.  But  there  is  one  shrine 
in  this  city  before  which  it  is  expected  that  every 
foreigner  will  remove  his  hat.  If  he  fails  to  do  so, 
he  is  thought  an  ignorant,  boorish  fellow,  and  may 
be  hissed  and  hooted.  It  is  the  fine,  large  Icon 
of  the  Master,  which  hangs  above  the  Redeemer's 
gate  (Spaskoi  Vorota) — one  of  the  entrances  of  the 
Kremlin.  Immemorial  custom  has  made  it  obliga- 
tory to  take  off  the  hat  when  entering  this  gate 
and  keep  it  off  till  the  entire  width  of  the  wall  is 
traversed.  The  cabman  would  let  his  horses  run 
away  before  he  would  neglect  this  hallowed  usage ; 
and  if  the  Tsar  himself  should  fail  to  comply  with 
it,  he  would  start  a  revolution. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  MOSCOW   FOUNDLING  ASYLUM. 

THE  foundling  asylum  (Vospitatelny  Dom)  is  as 
well  known  in.  Moscow  as  the  Tsar  Kolokol.  Any 
droschky-driver  can  take  you  there  by  the  shortest 
cut,  if  you  engage  him  by  the  "  course."  Every 
mujik  in  the  streets  can  and  will  direct  you  to  it 
with  the  greatest  pleasure.  He  may  think  that 
you  want  to  adopt  a  child  out  of  it,  or  to  put  one 
into  it.  As  a  man  of  Moscow,  he  is  interested  in 
both  those  operations.  Let  me  not  be  misunder- 
stood. The  foundling  asylum  is  not  intended  to 
receive  only  children  born  out  of  wedlock.  It  is 
indeed  a  refuge  for  those  poor  little  waifs.  Many 
a  baby,  over  whom  the  Moskwa  would  otherwise 
close  its  dark  and  swift  waters,  is  saved  to  become 
a  good  soldier  for  the  Tsar  or  a  modest  and  pret- 
tily dressed  house-maid,  simply  because  the  new- 
born could  be  put  by  the  mother  within  the  folds 
of  the  foundling  asylum  and  none  be  the  wiser. 
She  has  only,  in  the  darkness  of  night,  to  place  the 


THE  MOSCOW  FOUNDLING  ASYLUM.      263 

child  in  a  sort  of  cradle  attached  to  a  door  outside 
of  the  building,  and  pull  a  bell.  This  gives  a  sig- 
nal and  starts  some  machinery.  The  door  revolves 
on  its  hinges,  landing  the  little  stranger  on  the  in- 
side. At  the  same  time,  a  nurse  responds  to  the 
summons  and  takes  charge  of  the  baby.  If  the 
mother  has  left  any  bit  of  a  trinket  tied  around  its 
neck,  or  a  letter,  or  a  card  pinned  to  its  dress,  or 
anything  else  to  identify  it,  she  can  claim  her  own 
at  any  time  afterward,  on  proving  her  maternal 
rights.  If  she  wants  to  keep  her  painful  secret  for- 
ever to  herself,  she  may  be  sure  that  her  child  will 
be  well  fed,  neatly  clothed,  taught  to  read  and 
write,  cared  for  in  health  and  morals,  and  trained 
in  the  religion  of  the  Greek  Church,  till  he  or  she 
is  old  enough  to  be  apprenticed,  or  adopted  out 
by  some  respectable  citizen,  and  put  in  the  way  of 
an  honest  living. 

But  the  most  frequent  patrons  of  the  asylum  are 
married  folk.  If  they  have  more  children  than 
they  can  rear,  they  turn  over  the  surplus  to  the 
state — more  often  as  a  loan  than  a  gift.  They 
know  that  the  good  doctors  and  nurses  of  the  insti- 
tution will  do  all  in  their  power  to  preserve  the 
little  lives  unharmed.  At  the  end  of  five  or  six 
years  they  are  more  likely  to  find  their  Nicolaie- 
vitch  or  Feodorovna  well  and  happy,  than  if  it  had 
run  the  dreadful  gantlet  of  scarlet  fever,  cholera 


264  ROUNDABOUT   TO  MOSCOW. 

infantum,  and  diphtheria  in  their  own  squalid 
homes.  It  is  a  misfortune  to  feel  obliged  to  sur- 
render a  child  to  such  a  corporation,  though  the 
biggest  of  souls  animates  it.  The  parents  are  to 
be  pitied — perhaps  blamed — but  it  is  not  a  dis- 
grace to  them. 

I  said  that  anybody  in  Moscow  could  pilot  you 
to  the  foundling  asylum,  but  you  must  know  the 
Russian  word  for  it.  The  landlord  of  your  hotel 
will  give  it  to  you,  and  you  may  commit  it  to  mem- 
ory, or  write  it  down  by  the  sounds.  It  will  not 
bear  the  slightest  resemblance  to  the  name  of  a 
foundling  asylum  in  French,  German,  Italian,  or 
any  other  language  of  which  you  may  have  a  smat- 
tering. The  surname  of  the  present  writer  has 
always  appeared,  when  chalked  in  script  on  the 
blackboard  directories  of  Russian  hotels,  as  "  Ty- 
mour,"  or  something  to  that  effect.  It  reminded 
him  of  that  monster  in  history — Timour  the  Tartar 
— and  such  a  liberty  taken  with  his  patronymic 
was  not  at  all  agreeable. 

But  to  get  on  to  the  foundling  asylum.  Before 
presenting  myself  at  the  visitors'  door  of  the  vast 
building,  I  took  an  admission-ticket  from  my  pock- 
et-book. This  ticket  is  made  of  flimsy  paper,  about 
four  inches  long  by  three  wide  ;  it  bears  a  portrait 
of  the  Tsar,  a  number  of  Russian  words,  and  a  fac- 
simile of  somebody's  signature.  It  is  popularly 


A  NEW  ARRIVAL.  265 

known  as  the  "  ruble."  When  a  man  has  this  be- 
tween his  thumb  and  finger,  so  that  it  can  be  seen 
of  men,  it  will  take  him  through  doors  that  are 
locked  and  bolted  to  all  other  forms  of  passport. 
The  same  gratifying  effects  follow  the  exhibition 
of  the  shilling  in  England,  the  franc  in  France,  the 
lira  in  Italy,  the  mark  in  Germany,  and  the  florin 
in  Austria.  The  door  was  opened  by  a  dignified 
person.  He  loomed  up  so  very  large  that  I 
thought  my  ruble  was  a  little  too  small  for  his 
measure  ;  so  I  did  not  offer  it,  but  crumpled  it  sud- 
denly in  the  palm  of  my  hand.  The  tall  man 
looked  as  if  he  did  not  expect  or  desire  a  "  tip." 
Speaking  in  French,  he  kindly  asked  me  in,  and  I 
followed  him. 

I  was  just  in  time  to  see  something  very  inter- 
esting. We  entered  a  room  at  the  end  of  a  short 
passage.  At  that  moment  a  poorly  dressed  old 
woman  was  in  the  act  of  unrolling  a  huge  bundle 
of  shawls  and  wraps.  Over  her  was  bending  a 
matronly  person  with  a  very  sympathetic  face. 
My  polite  guide  drew  near  to  this  group  of  two, 
and  I  stood  at  his  elbow.  The  old  woman  peeled 
off  the  clothes  as  if  she  were  unrolling  a  mummy. 
Nobody  spoke  a  word,  but  I  heard  a  faint  cry 
from  the  center  of  the  mysterious  bundle.  Then  I 
knew  that  this  was  the  reception-room  for  babies, 
and  that  here  was  the  newest  of  the  comers.  A 


266  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

moment  more,  and  a  child  was  sprawling  before  us 
in  its  unadorned  beauty.  It  lay  in  the  middle  of 
the  heap  of  shawls  as  in  a  soft  nest,  which  it  was 
loath  to  quit.  As  it  made  another  little  piping  cry, 
a  tear  moistened  the  old  woman's  eye,  but  she 
showed  no  other  sign  of  agitation.  I  surmised 
that  she  was  the  grandmother  of  the  baby,  and  had 
come  to  discharge  a  duty  for  which  the  mother 
was  ashamed.  The  secret — whatever  it  was — was 
confided  to  the  care  of  the  good  matron  alone,  not 
even  my  guide  being  allowed  to  share  it.  Then  a 
little  Greek  cross  of  filigree  silver  was  handed  over 
as  a  keepsake  and  means  of  identifying  and  reclaim- 
ing the  child. 

These  preliminaries  over,  the  matron  touched  a 
bell.  In  response,  there  came  a  woman  bearing  a 
steelyard  scale,  and  a  measuring-tape.  She  held 
the  scale  aloft  with  a  firm  hand,  and  the  matron 
lifted  the  baby  gently  from  its  nest  and  placed  it  in 
the  large  bowl-like  receptable  for  weighing.  Be- 
tween its  bare  pink  flesh  and  the  cold  metal  there 
was  a  thin  sheet  of  soft  cloth.  The  baby  per- 
formed its  part  bravely,  for  it  lay  perfectly  quiet, 
while  the  matron  rapidly  adjusted  the  weight  till 
the  beam  hung  true.  She  could  not  have  done  the 
job  more  carefully  if  she  had  been  selling  the  baby 
at  a  hundred  rubles  a  pound.  The  exact  weight 
was  then  entered  in  a  great  ledger. 


NUMBER  11,283.  267 

Next  came  the  nice  measuring  of  the  head — 
all  around  just  above  the  eyes — and  its  length 
through  the  ears  from  crown  to  chin  ;  then  the 
girth  of  its  little  body  below  the  arms ;  and, 
finally,  the  candidate  was  raised  aloft  again  and 
turned  in  every  direction  in  the  strong  light  of 
a  large  bay-window.  The  aspirants  for  the  honor 
of  the  princess's  hand  in  the  "  Arabian  Nights " 
were  not  more  critically  inspected  for  blemishes. 
The  object  of  this  minute  examination  of  the  body 
was  to  note  birth-marks,  if  any.  Not  one  was 
found,  as  I  can  certify,  who  witnessed  the  opera- 
tion at  short  range.  This  over,  a  small  ticket  or 
medal  made  of  hard  wood,  numbered^  11,283,  and 
attached  to  an  India-rubber  cord,  was  hung  about 
baby's  neck.  It  would  receive  a  name  later  on ; 
for  the  present  it  was  only  a  numerical  expres- 
sion. Thus  ended  the  first  stage  of  baby's  initia- 
tion. At  that  point,  the  old  woman  whom  I  pro- 
visionally call  "grandmother,"  left  the  scene,  car- 
rying the  pile  of  shawls  and  wraps  loosely  upon 
her  arm.  If  she  felt  any  emotions  in  parting  with 
the  child,  she  completely  stifled  them. 

The  baby,  still  stark  naked,  but  not  shivering 
in  the  warm  air  of  the  room,  was  then  carried 
away.  The  guide  beckoned  me  to  follow  it  with 
him,  and  I  did  so.  We  entered  a  small  bath-room 
where  were  a  nice  porcelain-lined  bath-tub,  of 


268  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

baby  size,  with  silver  plated  stop-cocks,  a  shower- 
ing apparatus,  sponges,  soap  and  scrubbing-brush 
all  complete.  A  stout  woman,  with  fat  arms  bared 
clear  to  the  shoulder,  officiated  at  baby's  first 
bath,  and  I  was  expected  to  see  it  through.  It 
is  one  of  the  penalties  of  visiting  public  institu- 
tions anywhere  with  guides,  that  you  are  in  their 
hands  and  must  go  the  rounds.  But  I  had  be- 
come interested  in  baby's  fortunes,  and  found 
myself  watching  the  soaping  and  sponging  and 
scrubbing  without  being  much  bored.  If  that 
baby  takes  all  the  ills  of  life  as  bravely  as  it  took 
the  water  in  its  ears,  and  the  soap  in  its  eyes, 
then  there  ^vill  be  one  angelic  disposition  more 
in  this  wicked  world.  It  sputtered  a  little,  but 
never  cried  or  sniveled  once.  After  it  was  all 
wiped  dry  and  powdered  with  a  flour-dredger,  the 
stout  woman  shouldered  her  charge  and  led  the 
way  to  another  room.  I  found  myself  really  curi- 
ous to  see  what  would  happen  to  baby  next.  So 
I  followed,  with  the  guide  at  my  heels. 

We  were  now  in  the  dressing-room  ;  there  was 
a  large  wardrobe  with  glass  doors ;  through  these 
I  could  see  baby-dresses  hung  on  pegs.  They 
were  variously  trimmed  with  blue,  red,  and  yel- 
low ribbons,  and  I  soon  found  myself  wondering 
which  color  would  fall  to  baby's  share.  Thus 
concerned  in  its  affairs  had  I  unconsciously  be- 


BLUE  RIBBONS  FOR   THE  BABY.          269 

come.  On  shelves  in  the  wardrobe  were  displayed 
little  stockings,  soft  knitted  shoes,  and  caps.  There 
was  plenty  of  clothes  on  hand  for  every  emer- 
gency. The  woman  reached  up  and  took  down  a 
long,  white  dress  trimmed  with  yellow.  Now  I 
had  noticed  baby's  eyes  and  they  were  blue ;  so 
I  took  the  liberty  of  suggesting,  through  the 
guide,  that  the  ribbons  ought  to  match  the  eyes. 
The  hint  was  graciously  adopted.  If  any  future 
visitor  to  the  Foundling  Asylum  of  Moscow  should 
happen  to  observe  the  fine  blue  eyes  of  No.  11,283, 
he  will  appreciate  my  good  taste  in  matching  them 
with  the  ribbons,  which,  if  worn  out,  I  trust  will 
be  renewed. 

"  And,  now,"  said  my  guide,  "  you  must  see  the 
baby  nursed."  I  murmured  a  few  modest  objec- 
tions. I  did  not  wish  to  intrude  upon  such  strictly 
private  functions.  The  nurse  would  not  like  it, 
etc.  The  guide  smiled,  and  said  I  must  follow  the 
baby.  So  we  passed  through  another  doorway, 
and  entered  the  nurses'  room. 

It  was  a  long  apartment,  spotless  as  to  wooden 
floor  and  whitewashed  ceiling.  Along  one  side 
was  a  row  of  strong,  wooden  cradles ;  on  the 
other  side  were  the  nurses'  beds  with  frames  of 
iron.  The  sheets  were  snowy  and  the  pillows 
without  crease.  There  were  ten  or  twelve  nurses 
present,  each  one  rocking  a  cradle  or  holding  a 


270  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

child  to  her  breast.  Ruddier  and  more  robust 
women  I  never  saw.  They  were  mostly  under 
thirty  years  old,  I  should  say.  The  contour  of 
their  faces  was  more  oval  than  the  type  of  head 
seen  between  St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow,  and 
they  were  handsomer  in  other  respects.  They 
were  dressed  for  business  in  neat  and  appropriate 
costumes,  less  scanty  and  more  reserved  than  one 
sees  at  the  opera. 

Inquiring,  I  learned  that  the  best  nurses  come 
from  provinces  south  of  Moscow,  and  that  most  of 
these  were  of  that  select  class.  As  we  entered 
they  arose,  still  nursing  their  babies,  and  courtesied 
to  us  gracefully.  At  first,  I  felt  that  I  ought  to 
apologize  for  disturbing  this  large  but  peaceful 
family.  The  nurses,  however,  soon  put  me  at  ease. 
They  took  the  visit  quite  as  a  matter  of  course. 
They  could  not  have  been  less  self-conscious  had  I 
been  an  artist,  and  they  professional  models.  As 
we  passed  down  the  line,  the  guide  chucked  some 
of  the  babies  under  the  chin  or  patted  their  heads. 
Not  to  be  singular  I  did  the  same  thing.  Each 
nurse  seemed  to  think  the  act  complimentary  to 
herself,  as  well  as  to  the  baby.  I  dare  say,  if  her 
own  chin  had  been  chucked,  she  would  not  have 
taken  offense.  But  we  did  not  try  it. 

Near  the  end  of  the  line  stood  a  nurse,  who 
had  no  baby  in  her  arms.  The  cradle  just  behind 


THE  MOTHERLY  NURSE.  271 

her  was  empty.  Death  had  removed  its  little  ten- 
ant. She  was  the  destined  custodian  of  the  neo- 
phyte in  blue  ribbons.  I  was  glad  of  it.  In  look- 
ing at  her  honest  face  and  healthy  complexion,  one 
felt  sure  that  she  was  not  to  blame  for  that  loss  in 
the  fold.  The  nourishment  she  supplied  must  have 
been  life-giving.  On  that  broad  and  generous 
bosom  there  was  room  for  twins.  As  she  saw  the 
baby  borne  toward  her,  she  knew  what  it  meant. 
Her  large  eyes  shone  with  pleasure.  As  the  baby 
stopped  opposite  her,  both  reached  out  their  arms. 
It  was  an  act  of  nature  and  spontaneous.  That 
nurse  and  that  child  were  made  for  each  other. 
Its  own  mother  could  not  have  folded  it  to  her 
heart  more  tenderly.  I  felt  that  I  had  no  right 
to  push  curiosity  further.  I  was  satisfied  that 
baby's  fortunes,  so  far  followed  with  interest,  had 
reached  one  happy  stage.  As  I  turned  to  depart, 
the  last  sounds  I  heard  from  baby  were  faint  gur- 
gles of  satisfaction. 

My  initiation  into  the  mysteries  of  the  found- 
ling asylum  was  now  complete.  I  would  gladly 
have  stepped  out  of  window  on  to  the  green 
grass,  with  that  touching  picture  of  suckling  inno- 
cence still  in  my  mind.  But  a  guide,  like  a  senti- 
nel, must  go  his  rounds.  So  I  was  taken  by  moral 
force  through  other  rooms  full  of  nurses  and  ba- 


272  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

bies,  whom  I  passed  in  review.  The  prevalent 
quietness  of  the  infants  was  surprising.  Those  who 
were  awake  were  not  crying.  Like  everybody 
else  in  the  building,  they  appeared  to  be  on  their 
good  behavior  during  my  visit.  One  touch  of 
human  nature — if  only  the  clinching  of  a  tiny  fist 
— would  have  been  a  relief  amid  all  that  angelic 
display  of  sweet  temper.  It  made  one  suspect  that 
they  had  been  dosed  with  something  to  keep  them 
quiet.  I  was  glad  to  pass  on  to  the  laundry,  the 
hospital  (with  only  two  or  three  little  inmates)  the 
kitchen  and  the  pantry,  till  finally  we  came  to  a  re- 
fectory. There  was  a  tableful  of  children  large 
enough  to  sit  and  ply  the  spoon.  The  oldest  of 
the  thirty  or  forty  could  not  have  been  more  than 
six  years.  They  were  boys  and  girls,  simply  and 
neatly  dressed  in  uniform  style.  They  all  rose  as 
we  entered,  and  held  up  their  spoons  in  salute.  It 
was  a  pretty  sight  and  more  confusing  to  the  vis- 
itor than  one  would  think.  Such  courtesy  seems 
to  demand  a  better  response  than  a  bow.  A  dis- 
tribution of  sugar-plums  or  of  small  coin  would 
seem  the  proper  thing.  But  this  is  not  allowed  ; 
so  that,  all  we  can  do,  besides  bowing,  is  to  walk 
around  this  company  of  little  people,  and  smile  at 
them  in  a  vague,  benevolent  way.  Through  the 
guide  I  begged  them  to  be  seated.  They  did  not 
need  to  be  asked  twice,  for  they  were  hungry,  and 


PLYING    THE  SPOON.  273 

I  had  interrupted  them  in  the  act  of  eating  what 
looked  like  hasty-pudding  and  milk.  It  recalled 
my  own  early  fondness  for  that  dish,  and  I  would 
gladly  have  been  invited  to  join  the  simple  repast, 
even  at  the  risk  of  spoiling  a  keen  appetite  for  the 
forthcoming  elaborate  dinner  at  the  Slaviansky 
Bazaar.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  note  the  size  of  the 
bowls.  They  held  an  honest  quart  apiece,  and  had 
been  so  scrupulously  filled  that  some  of  the  chil- 
dren stopped  plying  their  spoons  before  they  got 
to  the  bottom  ;  others  rapidly  emptied  their  bowls 
and  polished  off  the  interiors.  For  those  greedier 
ones  there  was  still  a  supply  of  sweetened  bread 
in  stacks,  waiting  a  signal  to  be  passed  around.  It 
was  plain  that  the  older  children,  as  well  as  the 
babies  themselves,  were  objects  of  a  provident 
care  which  would  shame  many  parents.  Not  oth- 
erwise can  I  explain  the  bright  eyes,  contented 
faces,  and  chubby  bodies  I  saw  in  that  refectory. 
Many  of  the  children  were  strikingly  good-looking. 
I  recall  the  seraphic  face  of  a  five-year-old  girl, 
with  large  black  eyes,  and  a  perfect  mouth,  and 
two  dimples  dotting  cheeks  of  rose-leaves.  And 
one  of  the  boys  looked  almost  like  a  twin  brother 
of  the  child  in  the  arms  of  the  Sistine  Madonna. 
There  was  the  same  dreamy,  far-away  gaze  in  his 
eyes.  I  wondered  how  parents  could  abandon 
such  beautiful  children  to  the  care  of  other  people. 


274  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

This  was  the  climax  of  interest  at  the  foundling- 
asylum,  as  the  guide  then  candidly  informed  me 
upon  being  questioned.  It  was  much  against  the 
good  man's  wishes  that  I  tore  myself  away  from 
him.  But,  I  hope,  when  I  pressed  a  humble  gift 
into  his  hand,  that  he  felt  the  more  reconciled  to 
my  departure,  though  it  is  only  due  to  him,  as  to 
all  of  his  class  whom  I  met  in  Russia,  to  say  that 
they  have  the  rare  tact  of  not  appearing  to  want 
one's  money.  One  always  feels  a  little  delicacy 
about  offering  pour  boires.  But  the  truth  binds  me 
to  say  that  they  are  never  declined. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

RUSSIAN  EPICURISM  IN  TEA — THE  JOLTAI  TCHAI, 
OR  YELLOW-FLOWER   BRAND. 

BEING  at  Moscow,  I  improved  the  occasion  to 
look  iip  the  yellow-flower  tea — the  Joltai  Tchai — of 
which  I  had  read  and  heard  much.  Travelers,  claim- 
ing  to  be  veracious,  have  told  us  that  this  tea  is  the 
first  picking  of  the  young  and  tender  leaves  of  the 
choicest  plants  in  China,  and  that  it  is  brought 
overland  on  the  backs  of  porters.  I  have  seen 
pictures  of  men  in  Chinese  dress  climbing  up 
mountains  at  angles  of  70°,  with  chests  of  the  pre- 
cious tea  strapped  on  their  shoulders.  The  object 
of  this  incredible  toil,  we  were  assured,  was  to 
avoid  a  sea-voyage,'  in  which  the  damp,  salt  air 
would  impair  the  exquisite  flavor  of  the  Joltai 
Tchai.  The  story  went  that  this  tea  could  always 
be  known  by  the  presence  of  the  small,  yellowish- 
white  buds  or  flowers  of  its  native  stalk  scattered 
through  it,  without  which,  as  the  quack  advertise- 
ments say,  "  none  is  genuine  "  ;  though  it  always 
13 


2/6  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

seemed  to  me  that  that  proof  must  be  a  fallible 
one  for  all  those  people  outside  of  China  who  had 
never  seen  a  tea-flower,  and  that,  anyhow,  it  would 
be  easy  to  cheat  them  by  mixing  the  real  blossom 
with  poor  tea.  But  these  same  enthusiastic  au- 
thors proceeded  to  give  higher  and  more  subtile 
tests  for  Joltai  Tchai.  They  declared  that,  when  a 
package  of  it  was  opened,  it  exhaled  the  most  deli- 
cious of  perfumes,  which  filled  a  room  on  the  in- 
stant. They  did  not  compare  it  to  any  earthly  or 
known  odor,  but  left  the  impression  that  it  was 
something  heavenly,  and  therefore  indescribable. 
Its  flavor  on  the  palate  was  vaguely  mentioned  as 
aromatic,  delicate,  and  yet  perceptible  when  di- 
luted with  any  amount  of  water.  The  mental 
effects  ascribed  to  this  tea  were  no  less  remark- 
able. It  was  said  that  a  cup  of  it,  with  only  two 
teaspoonfuls  to  the  ordinary  pot,  was  equal  to  a 
pint  of  champagne  for  exhilaration,  without  the 
least  after-clap  of  headache.  As  for  those  obfus- 
cations  of  the  intellect  commonly  known  as  "  cob- 
webs," it  would  brush  away  the  last  filament  of 
them  from  the  nooks  and  corners  of  the  stupidest 
minds.  But  we  were  solemnly  warned  not  to  take 
two  cups  of  it  at  a  time,  under  penalty  of  losing 
sleep  for  forty-eight  hours.  Its  cost  to  the  con- 
sumer in  Russia  was  variously  stated  at  ten  to 
twenty  dollars  a  pound.  But  a  tea,  half  as  won- 


RUSSIAN  EPICURISM  IN  TEA. 


277 


derful  as  this,  should  be  cheap  at  any  price.  I 
resolved  to  buy  some  of  it. 

I  was  so  anxious  to  secure  the  authentic  article, 
that  I  called  upon  an  English  gentleman,  to  whom 
I  was  referred,  long  a  resident  of  Moscow,  and 
speaking  Russian  like  a  native.  He  consented  to 
accompany  me  to  the  only  shop  he  knew  of  where 
the  real  Joltai  Tchai  could  be  obtained.  We  found 
it  in  a  part  of  the  city  but  little  visited  by  for- 
eigners. The  shop  was  small,  and  three  Tartar-like 
persons  stood  behind  the  counter.  On  the  walk 
thither  the  Englishman  had  kindly  explained  that 
the  Tartars  were  the  most  honest  people  in  Russia 
—where  honesty  is  the  rule,  so  far  as  I  know.  He 
assured  me  that  Tartars  pure  and  simple  were  pre- 
ferred before  all  other  races  for  places  of  financial 
responsibility.  They  made  the  best  cashiers,  head 
book-keepers,  superintendents,  and  managers.  And 
when  he  said  he  was  taking  me  to  a  Tartar  tea- 
shop,  I  felt  as  if  I  should  not  be  robbed. 

The  three  Tartars  did  not  even  nod  at  us  as  we 
entered,  but  only  stood  at  ease  to  take  our  order. 
This  was  quickly  given  in  Russian  by  my  compan- 
ion, who  first,  however,  asked  the  price  of  Joltai 
Tchai  by  the  pound.  It  was  ten  rubles  (about  eight 
dollars  and  thirty  cents  in  paper  money),  which  was 
less  than  I  had  expected,  and  I  mentioned  the  quan- 
tity I  would  buy.  One  of  the  Tartars  took  down  a 


278  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

small  box  from  an  upper  shelf,  opened  it,  and  dis- 
closed another  box  having  a  tightly  fitting  slide 
cover ;  this  he  removed,  and  brought  to  light  a  thick 
tin-foil  wrapping,  which  being  unfolded  revealed 
tissue-paper,  beneath  several  thicknesses  of  which 
lay  the  tea.  Up  to  this  time  I  had  stood  back,  wait- 
ing to  catch  the  all-penetrating  odor  of  the  Joltai 
Tchai  at  a  distance,  but  it  did  not  report  itself. 
So  I  leaned  forward,  bent  over  the  little  chest,  and 
took  a  good  long  sniff.  Yes,  there  was  a  decided 
tea-smell,  but  no  more  searching  or  ravishing  than 
that  of  the  Oolong  I  had  been  consuming  at  home 
all  my  life.  This  was  disappointment  number  one. 

The  required  amount  of  tea  was  carefully 
weighed  before  me.  I  could  watch  it  as  it  was 
shaken  out  of  the  chest  into  the  capacious  scale. 
It  looked  about  the  color  of  green  tea,  with  a  yel- 
low shade  in  a  side-light,  and  had  no  points  of  dis- 
tinction except  the  presence  of  many  shriveled-up, 
dirty-white  buds.  These  were  yellow  only  to  the 
eye  of  faith  ;  and  that  was  disappointment  number 
two. 

After  the  tea  had  been  weighed  with  great  par- 
ticularity, the  Tartar  removed  it  to  the  back  of  the 
shop,  to  do  it  up  in  a  package  with  many  thick- 
nesses of  rice-paper  and  tin-foil.  I  could  not  help 
fearing  that,  when  out  of  my  sight,  the  man  would 
substitute  a  far  inferior  tea  for  the  costly  Joltai 


THE  JOLTAI  TCHAL  279 

Tchai.  But  when  the  Englishman,  speaking  from 
his  past  experience  with  the  race,  said,  "  You  can 
trust  him,"  I  felt  completely  reassured,  paid  my 
bill,  thanked  my  English  friend  for  his  assistance, 
and  returned  to  the  hotel  with  my  treasure.  And 
here  let  me  give  the  sequel  of  my  experience  with 
Joltai  Tchai. 

It  was  not  thoroughly  tested  for  its  supposed 
remarkable  qualities  till  I  returned  to  the  United 
States.  Russian  lovers  of  Joltai  Tchai  will  here 
object  that  the  trial  was  not  a  fair  one;  that  it 
should  have  been  made  on  their  soil,  before  the 
tea  had  crossed  any  salt-water.  There  is  force  in 
this  suggestion.  But  it  seemed  a  pity  to  break  a 
package  so  shapely,  and  intended  to  secure  the 
contents  completely  against  the  harmful  influence 
of  the  elements.  And  then,  too,  all  the  tea  I  drank 
in  Russia  was  so  excellent  that  I  did  not  want  any 
better  there.  At  home  it  was  the  subject  of  many 
experiments,  which  go  far  to  establish  the  follow- 
ing conclusions:  The  yellow-flower  tea  is  delicate 
to  a  fault ;  so  much  so  that  persons  accustomed  to 
the  rank  and  adulterated  teas  of  commerce  find  it 
insipid.  It  is  like  the  finest  old  Johannisberger  or 
Chateau-Margaux  as  compared  with  heady  new 
wines ;  no  one  but  a  professional  tea-taster  can 
appreciate  its  high  grade.  Its  odor  is  markedly 
not  different  from  that  of  any  other  tea,  except  as 


28o  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

one  may  say  it  is  more  "  tea-like."  Its  unique  ex- 
cellence lies  in  its  clarifying  and  cheering  effect 
on  the  mind  of  the  drinker.  It  disperses  a  head- 
ache like  magic,  and  mental  anxiety  as  well.  If 
one  were  possessed  of  "  blue-devils,"  I  should  ex- 
pect two  stiff  cups  of  Joltai  Tchai  to  send  them 
scampering. 

If  it  is  worth,  as  some  think,  two  or  three  dol- 
lars to  extract  a  few  fleeting  moments  of  joy  from 
a  bottle  of  champagne,  then  one  should  not  grudge 
thrice  as  much  for  a  pound  of  yellow-flower  tea, 
which  will  insure  him  perhaps  some  hundred  hours 
of  innocent  exaltation.  And,  as  for  sleep,  I  have 
not  yet  lost  any  from  its  use,  but  prefer  not  to 
drink  a  strong  infusion  of  it  late  at  night. 

Like  any  other  high-grade  tea,  where  the  object 
is  not  to  disguise  the  flavor  of  the  herb,  it  is  best 
without  sugar  or  cream,  or  even  the  slice  of  lemon 
beloved  by  all  Russians.  But  these  ingredients, 
unless  too  freely  employed,  do  not  rob  the  tea  of 
its  slightly  peculiar  taste,  or  impair  its  virtue  as  a 
most  agreeable  tonic  or  stimulant.  Connoisseurs 
in  teas  prefer  to  treat  it  with  fresh,  actually  boil- 
ing water  poured  directly  on  the  tea  in  a  sunken 
cylinder  full  of  holes  set  into  the  pot.  The  clear 
infusion  passes  through  this  perforated  'cylinder, 
and  it  should  be  drunk  immediately  afterward. 
But  other  persons  less  critical  like  it  better  when 


YELLOW-FLOWER   TEA.  281 

the  boiling  water  is  poured  on  the  tea  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  pot,  and  then  allowed  to  draw  a  good 
five  or  even  ten  minutes  on  the  stove  itself,  or, 
better  still,  on  the  iron  shelf  for  hot  plates  above 
it.  This  treatment  makes  a  stronger  decoction, 
but  tends  to  substitute  rankness  for  delicacy  of 
flavor.  But  it  brings  out  some  of  the  valuable 
properties  of  the  tea  which  do  not  apparently  re- 
spond to  the  other  and  more  superficial  method. 
On  the  whole,  the  verdict  of  the  majority  of  those 
who  have  tried  it  both  ways  is  in  favor  of  the 
drawing  process.  Under  no  circumstances  does 
it  acquire  a  bitter  taste.  And  yet,  after  all  that  I 
have  said  in  favor  of  Joltai  Tchai,  it  is  a  fact  that 
nobody  who  drinks  it  seems  to  think  that  it  is  any- 
thing extraordinary  till  told  so.  And  I  must  say 
that  I  am  sometimes  in  serious  doubt  whether  my 
high  opinion  of  the  tea  is  not  the  work  of  pure 
imagination. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  HUNT  FOR  MALACHITE  AND  LAPIS-LAZULI   IN  THE 
GOSTINNOI  DVOR. 

AN  American's  pride  in  his  importance  as  a 
customer  is  apt  to  get  a  bad  fall  when  he  enters 
at  random  a  shop  in  Moscow.  At  St.  Petersburg 
he  has  noticed  that  his  patronage  was  not  greatly 
coveted  in  the  vast  bazaar  opposite  the  Hotel 
d'Europe  on  the  Nevskoi  Prospekt  where  he  made 
most  of  his  purchases.  He  missed  the  assiduous, 
almost  servile,  attention  to  which  he  was  accus- 
tomed in  London,  Paris,  and  Vienna.  But  in  Mos- 
cow the  shop-keepers  carry  their  indifference  a 
point  further.  They  act  as  if  they  wanted  to  re- 
pel American  customers.  This  is  because  we  are 
confounded  with  Englishmen,  and,  as  such,  are  not 
liked.  Dressing  and  speaking  like  Englishmen 
and  too  often  imitating  them  in  tricks  of  manner, 
Americans  are  only  naturally  mistaken  for  a  class 
of  foreigners  with  whom  Russia  has  perpetual 
feud.  As  Moscow  is  the  heart  of  Russia,  the 


ANTI-ENGLISH  FEELING.  283 

anti-English  feeling  is  strongest  there.  Ameri- 
cans soon  find  this  out,  whenever  they  walk  the 
streets  or  visit  the  great  bazaars,  from  the  icy 
atmosphere  that  seems  to  surround  every  Russian 
like  a  nimbus.  At  the  great  hotels  the  English- 
men are  welcome,  because  the  landlords  are  supe- 
rior to  local  prejudices  when  their  guests  pay  well. 
At  least  one  porter  or  waiter  who  speaks  French 
is  kept  on  hand  for  their  convenience.  At  some 
of  the  larger  and  higher-priced  shops  of  Moscow, 
they  are  also  treated  with  some  of  the  considera- 
tion paid  to  them  in  Western  Europe.  But  their 
room  is  undoubtedly  more  desired  than  their  com- 
pany by  the  Russians  at  large.  And  Americans, 
except  where  they  can  make  their  nationality 
known,  suffer  from  the  same  antipathy.  I  give 
my  own  experience. 

I  wanted  to  buy  some  articles  made  of  mala- 
chite and  lapis-lazuli.  Having  seen  in  the  churches 
whole  pillars  rising  from  floor  to  ceiling  veneered 
with  those  beautiful  green  and  blue  stones,  I  im- 
agined that  both  of  them  would  be  abundant  and 
cheap  in  the  heart  of  the  empire  where  they  are 
mined.  Much  to  my  surprise,  the  manager  of 
my  hotel  could  not  direct  me  to  any  shop  for 
such  purchases.  He  advised  me  to  try  an  im- 
mense bazaar  near  the  Kremlin.  Its  Russian 
name,  as  nearly  as  I  can  give  it  in  English  char- 


284  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

acters,  is  Gostinnoi  Dvor.  The  district  of  the 
city  in  which  it  is  situated  is  the  Kitai  Gorod 
(Chinese  town  or  quarter).  I  took  his  advice, 
starting  out  just  after  breakfast  one  fine  morning, 
and  determining  to  give  all  of  twenty — possibly 
thirty — of  my  precious  minutes  to  the  search  for 
lapis-lazuli  and  malachite. 

The  bazaar  is  a  great,  covered  market  divided 
into  innumerable  stalls.  Each  stall  has  its  show- 
cases thrust  in  front,  containing  the  choicest  of 
the  goods  for  sale,  usually  ticketed  with  prices 
in  rubles  and  kopecks.  These  are  given  in  fig- 
ures to  be  read  of  all  men.  Just  behind  the 
show-cases  stands  a  man  or  woman  on  the  alert. 
In  the  rear  of  the  little  booth  is  the  proprietor, 
sitting  on  a  three-legged  stool  before  a  ledger. 
On  either  side  of  him  rise  tiers  of  shelves  packed 
with  his  reserved  treasures.  As  I  started  to  go 
down  the  narrow  passage-way  between  two  rows 
of  these  stalls  I  observed  the  long  perspective 
of  men  or  women  waiting  for  customers  at  that 
early  hour.  I  almost  dreaded  to  run  the  gantlet. 
My  object  was  to  go  through  the  entire  bazaar; 
"  mark  down  "  the  shops  at  which  lapis-lazuli  and 
malachite  were  exposed  for  sale,  with  a  note  of 
the  prices,  and,  after  I  had  found  just  what  suited 
me,  then  to  come  .back  and  buy  it  on  the  best 
terms  I  could  make. 


A    TRULY  R  US  SI  AN  BAZAAR.  285 

To  escape  being  teased  to  purchase  the  clothes, 
boots  and  shoes,  kitchen  utensils,  mouse-traps, 
fancy  soaps,  cutlery,  and  thousands  of  other  things 
I  did  not  want,  I  kept  to  the  middle  of  the  pas- 
sage-way, walking  fast  with  head  down,  but  look- 
ing out  sharply  at  the  corners  of  my  eyes.  These 
swift  side-glances  took  in  not  only  the  strangely 
various  contents  of  all  the  shops  I  passed,  but  also 
the  looks  of  the  people  in  charge.  I  was  much 
astonished  to  receive  no  particular  notice  from 
them.  They  looked  at  me  as  at  a  passing  dog  or 
cat,  but  not  one  of  them  nodded  or  beckoned. 
And  not  one  even  began  to  tidy  up  his  things 
with  a  wisp-broom,  or  change  them  about  ostenta- 
tiously, as  the  shopman  in  other  lands  often  does 
when  a  possible  customer  comes  in  sight.  The 
Russian  face  is  generally  considered  inexpressive. 
But  I  never  knew  till  then  how  blank  it  could 
be.  Once  in  a  while,  however,  I  noticed  a  low- 
ering of  brows  and  a  slight  protrusion  of  the 
lower  lip,  which  looked  very  much  like  disdain. 
I  did  not  then  know  that  I  was  mistaken  for  an 
Englishman,  and  that  I  could  not  have  chosen  a 
place  for  shopping  where  our  insular  friends  are 
held  in  such  large  measure  of  dislike  as  in  that 
truly  Russian  bazaar. 

Two  pretty  girls,  dressed  in  bright  colors,  with 
silver  skewers  in  their  hair,  were  selling  flowers  at 


286  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

one  of  the  stands.  I  stepped  up  to  buy  a  button- 
hole bouquet,  and  selected  one,  tendering  a  ruble 
for  change.  I  was  anxious  to  see  if  either  of  the 
girls  would  offer  to  pin  it  to  the  lapel  of  my  coat, 
as  flower-venders  often  do  elsewhere.  To  propi- 
tiate them,  I  said  "  American."  This  single  word 
has  been  known  to  produce  wonderful  effect  on 
occasions.  But  it  was  thrown  away  here.  These 
fair  creatures  were  of  the  peasant  class,  totally 
ignorant  of  any  language  but  Russian.  It  is 
doubtful  if  they  had  ever  seen  an  American  to 
know  him.  To  them  I  was  only  an  Englishman, 
and  therefore  it  was  that  one  of  them  sheered 
away  from  me,  and  the  other  pouted,  and  I  was 
obliged  to  pin  on  my  own  boutonniere.  Now,  I 
was  indeed  vexed,  not  guessing  the  real  trouble. 
I  determined  to  compel  some  of  these  people 
to  notice  me.  I  stepped  up  to  a  counter,  picked 
up  an  old  copper  frying-pan,  and  rapped  it  sharp- 
ly with  my  knuckles.  This  meant  in  the  sign- 
language,  "  How  much  ? "  I  had  a  note-book 
and  pencil  in  hand,  and  intended  to  intimate  by 
dumb-show  that  the  proprietor  should  jot  down 
the  price  there.  The  frying-pan,  when  smitten, 
sounded  like  a  gong,  and  made  quite  a  noise.  This 
was  all  the  better  for  me,  as  it  was  sure  to  bring 
down  the  man  who  sat  back  there  on  a  high  stool, 
and  was  the  only  occupant  of  the  shop.  He  de- 


CKSSS-CJtOSS.  287 

scended  from  his  perch,  but  it  was  with  a  scowl, 
as  if  the  harsh  sound  had  disturbed  his  medita- 
tions. Looking  at  me,  he  seemed  instantly  to 
make  up  his  mind  that  I  did  not  want  to  buy 
that  ancient  frying-pan  on  any  terms.  And  this 
was  true.  But  I  was  not  prepared  for  what  he 
did.  He  just  took  the  utensil  gently  by  the  han- 
dle, gave  it  a  little  twist  to  detach  it  from  my 
grasp,  and  then  laid  it  down  on  the  counter.  It 
was  as  if  he  had  said,  "  No  more  of  that,  please." 
I  stalked  away  as  majestically  as  possible,  without 
any  attempt  at  explanation.  Broad  faces  with 
high  cheek-bones  were  on  the  grin  all  about.  It 
would  have  been  a  real  comfort  to  know  that  I 
was  mistaken  for  an  Englishman. 

I  walked  fast  down  the  middle  of  the  aisle,  re- 
solved not  to  stop  again  till  I  saw  some  stall  at 
which  jewelry  and  ornamental  knickknacks  were 
on  sale.  For  about  a  thousand  feet  farther  it 
was  a  monotonous  stretch  of  useful  articles  to  wear 
or  to  eat  or  to  furnish  a  house  withal.  Then  I 
came  to  a  corner  round  which  was  another  pas- 
sage-way about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long,  also  lined 
with  shops.  And  I  may  as  well  explain  here  that, 
at  regular  intervals  of  a  few  hundred  feet,  other 
alleys  just  as  full  of  shops  branch  off  criss-cross. 
The  bazaar  is  of  the  distracting  chess-board  pat- 
tern ;  and  the  man  who  started  out,  as  I  did,  to  see 


288  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

the  whole  of  it,  in  order  to  miss  no  good  chance 
of  buying  some  malachite  and  lapis-lazuli,  had  a 
bigger  job  in  hand  than  he  dreamed  of. 

Far  ahead,  I  saw  strings  of  gilt  beads  dangling 
in  front  of  a  shop.  Hurrying  on,  I  found  that 
it  was  full  of  ear-rings,  breastpins,  chains,  crosses, 
and  all  the  other  kinds  of  jewelry  in  vogue  every- 
where. The  objects  were  mostly  of  silver  and 
gold.  There  were  real  diamonds,  rubies,  emeralds, 
and  pearls.  Putting  on  my  best  smile,  to  propi- 
tiate the  owner,  who,  like  all  the  others,  did  not 
seem  to  want  to  have  anything  to  do  with  me,  I 
peered  into  his  show-cases  and  ran  my  eye  rapidly 
over  the  contents.  Among  them  there  was  noth- 
ing green,  but  emeralds,  or  blue,  but  sapphires. 
Still,  I  was  not  discouraged,  for  there  were  miles 
or  more  of  shops  under  that  vast  roof,  and  sooner 
or  later  the  desired  objects  must  be  found. 

After  a  smart  walk  of  about  five  minutes  more, 
through  files  of  apathetic  Russians  without  see- 
ing what  was  wanted,  I  came  upon  a  colony  of 
Jews,  and  warmed  up  to  them  at  once,  when  they 
bowed  and  beckoned  to  me.  It  was  evident  that 
they  were  anxious  to  trade,  and  had  no  prejudices 
against  supposed  Englishmen.  Several  of  them 
dealt  in  jewelry  and  works  of  art;  and,  as  luck 
would  have  it,  there  was  a  huge  object  made  of 
malachite  exhibited  conspicuously  on  a  shelf  in 


THE  MALACHITE  PUNCH-BOWL.          289 

front  of  one  of  their  stalls.  It  was  shaped  like  a 
punch-bowl,  of  about  one  gallon  capacity.  I  pointed 
to  it  with  my  cane.  The  man  took  it  down  for  me. 
It  was  a  masterpiece.  The  fragments  of  malachite 
of  which  it  was  composed  exhibited  the  various 
green  shades  of  the  stone,  and  the  characteristic 
wavy  lines.  The  pieces  were  so  carefully  selected, 
and  the  joining  was  so  nicely  done,  that  the  colors 
and  the  lines  ran  together  making  a  perfect  whole. 
At  first  sight,  one  could  not  believe  that  this  punch- 
bowl was  not  carved  from  a  single  piece  of  mala- 
chite. There  was  no  need  of  asking  the  Jew  his 
price,  for  it  was  ticketed  plainly  enough  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty — the  figures  standing  for  rubles. 
This  would  be  about  one  hundred  and  twenty-five 
dollars,  counting  the  ruble  at  its  then  gold  value  of 
fifty  cents.  I  might  have  bought  it  at  a  third  or  per- 
haps a  half  off,  and  was  strongly  tempted  to  try  for 
it.  But  its  size,  the  trouble  of  carrying  it  round  in 
a  trunk,  and,  not  least,  the  high  duty  which  would 
be  levied  on  it  in  New  York,  were  enough  to  re- 
strain me.  I  looked  all  over  his  exposed  stock, 
but  could  see  no  more  malachite  and  not  a  sign  of 
lapis-lazuli.  It  then  occurred  to  me  that,  being  a 
Jew,  he  might  have  traveled,  and  have  some  knowl- 
edge of  the  world's  great  languages.  So  I  threw 
scraps  of  French,  German,  and  English  at  him  in 
succession.  To  all  he  only  shook  his  head,  and  ex- 


290 


ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 


pelled  from  his  chest  a  few  of  those  deep  guttur- 
als which  I  had  already  learned  to  recognize  as 
pure  Slavic.  Like  most  Russians,  whether  Jew  or 
Christian,  he  had  never  been  out  of  his  country, 
nor  spoken  to  a  foreigner.  Nothing  so  deeply 
impressed  me  with  the  immensity  of  the  Russian 
Empire,  and  the  isolated  condition  of  her  people,  as 
the  fact  that  so  few  of  them,  and  those  only  the 
well  educated — even  in  the  two  great  cities,  St. 
Petersburg  and  Moscow — understand  a  word  of 
any  language  but  their  own.  I  nodded  good-by  to 
my  Jewish  friend,  whose  kind  manner  showed  that 
he  regretted  as  much  as  I  that  we  could  not  find  a 
common  ground  for  exchanging  ideas,  and  went  on 
with  the  search. 

It  might  have  been  half  an  hour  later  when  I 
saw,  shining  through  the  window  of  a  show-case,  a 
pair  of  deep-blue  sleeve-buttons.  I  stepped  up 
and  examined  them  closely.  The  shade  of  blue 
was  indigo.  The  surface  had  a  fine,  hard  polish, 
and  reflected  to  the  eye  those  little  star-like  points 
of  light  which,  in  the  true  lapis-lazuli,  seem  just 
buried  beneath  its  surface.  The  beautiful  stones 
were  heavily  mounted  in  gold.  They  were  exactly 
what  I  wanted.  The  ticket  linked  to  them  bore 
the  figures  twenty-eight — rubles,  of  course.  This 
was  not  too  high  for  genuine  lapis-lazuli  sleeve-but- 
tons, gold  mounted  in  the  best  style.  The  pleasant 


NODS  AND  SMILES. 


291 


looks  of  this  Russian  proprietor  seemed  to  invite 
me  to  tarry  and  trade. 

Forgetting  for  a  moment  that  he  could  not  pos- 
sibly understand  English,  I  pointed  to  the  lovely 
objects,  and  said,  interrogatively,  "  Lapis-lazuli  ?  " 
To  my  great  delight  he  nodded  and  smiled.  That 
was  a  "  Yes,"  all  the  world  over. 

"Is  it  gold?"  I  asked,  in  reference  to  the  set- 
ting, at  the  same  time  repeating  the  question  in 
French.  It  was  plain  that  he  understood  the  one 
or  the  other  language,  for  he  nodded  and  smiled 
again.  To  find  some  one  at  last  who  could  catch 
my  idea  was  indeed  gratifying.  Anticipating  my 
wish,  he  then  removed  the  sleeve-buttons  from  the 
show-case  and  put  them  in  my  hand.  I  turned 
them  over  and  examined  them  minutely.  Though 
unfamiliar  with  the  best  tests  for  lapis-lazuli,  I 
knew  that,  like  all  natural  stones,  it  should  have  a 
cold  touch,  and  not  warm  readily  in  the  palm.  I 
held  it  for  a  moment,  when  it  became  heated  in 
contact  with  the  flesh.  Then  I  strongly  suspected 
it  to  be  paste.  A  solid  gold  setting  should  be 
heavy  of  its  size.  This  one  was  very  light.  I  de- 
cided that  the  sleeve-buttons  were  not  a  bargain  at 
any  price,  and  laid  them  down  on  the  counter. 

At  that  instant  I  was  startled  by  a  voice  at  my 
elbow,  which  said,  "  Those  just  suit  me,  if  you 
don't  want  'em." 


292  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

I  turned  and  saw  a  plethoric  Englishman,  who 
looked  flushed  and  panted  as  if  from  over-exertion. 
"  Fact  is,"  said  he,  "  I've  been  chasin'  up  and  down 
this  blarsted  bazaar  after  lapus-lazerlee  more'n  two 
hours,  and  this  is  the  first  lot  I've  struck.  I  don't 
want  to  take  'em  away  from  you,  you  know.  But 
I've  promised  to  buy  a  pair  of  just  such  sleeve-but- 
tons for  a  friend  in  London." 

"  You  are  welcome  to  them,"  I  said  ;  "  but  " — 
and  I  was  about  to  give  him  a  friendly  hint  to  ex- 
amine the  goods  very  carefully  before  buying. 

"  Thanks,"  he  said,  interrupting  me.  "  Twenty- 
eight  rubles,  I  see  by  the  ticket.  I'll  try  him  at 
half-price,"  he  added  in  an  undertone  for  my  ear. 

Then,  raising  his  voice  at  the  shop-keeper,  he 
cried,  "  I'll  give  you  fourteen,  and  not  another  ru- 
ble." The  Russian  certainly  understood  that  much 
of  English,  for  again  he  nodded  and  smiled  me- 
chanically as  usual ;  whereupon  his  customer  thrust 
two  ten-ruble  notes  at  him,  in  evident  anxiety  not 
to  lose  a  great  bargain.  As  he  did  so,  he  said  to 
me  in  a  side-whisper,  "  Now  I've  got  'em,  I  don't 
mind  telling  you  that  a  cousin  of  mine  paid  thirty 
rubles  for  a  smaller  pair  than  them  at  Nijni-Novgo- 
rod  two  years  ago." 

Now  came  a  surprise  for  our  hasty  English 
friend ;  for  the  shopman,  with  a  bewildered  ex- 
pression of  face,  handed  back  to  him  one  of 


MISTAKES  ALL  ROUND.  293 

the  ten-ruble  notes.  Then  he  opened  a  till  and 
scooped  out  a  quantity  of  change — some  paper  and 
some  silver  and  copper.  I  now  shared  the  Eng- 
lishman's amazement,  and  we  both  looked  on,  si- 
lently wondering  what  would  happen  next.  Final- 
ly, he  deliberately  counted  out  seven  rubles  and 
ninety-two  kopecks,  and  pushed  them  toward  the 
Englishman.  This  made  the  price  o/  the  sleeve- 
buttons  only  two  rubles  and  eight  kopecks,  or 
about  one  dollar  and  four  cents  of  American 
money.  Here,  indeed,  was  a  stupendous  bargain, 
unless  the  lapis-lazuli  were  only  paste  and  the  gold 
pinchbeck. 

The  latter  proved  to  be  the  case,  as  the  Eng- 
lishman and  I  readily  perceived  after  giving  the 
sleeve-buttons  a  more  minute  examination  than  we 
had  hitherto  bestowed  on  them.  The  figures  on 
the  ticket,  when  critically  inspected,  turned  out  to 
be  2  with  a  dot  followed  by  an  8.  This  meant  two 
rubles  and  eight  kopecks,  but  the  dot  was  so  faint 
that  we  had  both  failed  to  notice  it  at  first.  The 
Englishman  had  rashly  taken  it  for  granted  that 
the  materials  were  genuine  without  asking  any 
questions.  He  had  no  cause  of  complaint  against 
the  seller,  for  he  had  not  been  cheated.  To  per- 
sons who  wanted  such  imitations,  they  were  worth 
the  low  price  charged.  The  fact  was,  as  the  Eng- 
lishman and  I  agreed  on  comparing  notes,  that  the 


294  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

Russian  had  not  understood  one  word  of  anything 
either  of  us  had  said  to  him.  He  had  simply 
nodded  and  grinned,  as  a  matter  of  civility,  trust- 
ing that,  when  the  business  came  to  close  quarters, 
the  meaning  could  mutually  be  made  clear.  This 
habit  of  nodding,  as  the  equivalent  of  "  Yes,"  is 
very  common  among  people  in  all  parts  of  Europe, 
who  have  not  the  faintest  idea  of  what  you  are  ask- 
ing them.  They  take  the  chance  that  "  Yes  "  may 
be  the  right  answer,  and  perhaps  they  even  say 
"  Yes "  to  you  in  whatever  language  they  speak, 
in  order  to  keep  up  the  illusion.  I  have  been  a 
hundred  times  misled — and  often  greatly  to  my  an- 
noyance— by  this  nod  or  spoken  assent  of  coach- 
men, porters,  and  tradesmen  in  all  parts  of  Eu- 
rope. 

The  Englishman  realized  the  impossibility  of 
explaining  matters  to  the  jewelry-dealer,  and  of 
getting  his  money  back.  He  accepted  the  situa- 
tion philosophically.  After  the  goods  had  been 
carefully  packed  for  him  in  a  little  pasteboard 
box,  he  put  them  in  his  pocket  with  the  simple 
remark,  "  Good  enough  present  for  somebody,  you 
know." 

We  then  separated  with  a  friendly  hand-shake, 
he  to  return  to  the  Hotel  Dusaux,  where  he  said 
he  was  stopping,  and  I  to  pursue  my  researches 
for  a  stone  almost  as  elusive  as  the  philosopher's. 


AN  ABANDONED  SEARCH.  295 

"I've  done  the  whole  bazaar,  and  I  know  it's  no 
use,"  were  his  parting  words.  But  I  determined 
to  see  for  myself;  and  it  was  not  till  the  end  of 
two  hours  more  that  I  gave  up  the  hunt  in  despair, 
wearied  and  foot-sore. 

But  I  had  better  luck  when  I  returned  to  St. 
Petersburg.  There  I  had  the  pleasure  of  inspect- 
ing several  small  but  choice  stocks  of  malachite 
goods,  and  purchasing  some  specimens  at  reason- 
able rates.  I  saw  a  few  pieces  of  lapis-lazuli — un- 
doubtedly genuine — but  not  one  as  handsome  as  the 
imitation  sold  to  that  Englishman  in  the  Gostin- 
noi  Dvor  of  Moscow.  The  prices  asked  for  them 
seemed  always  far  too  high  for  their  intrinsic 
beauty.  So  I  left  them  all  in  their  show-cases  on 
the  Nevskoi  Prospekt,  to  meet  the  possible  demand 
of  other  Americans  for  that  kind  of  stone. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  PEACOCK-FEATHER  MYSTERY — MANAYUNK  AND 
THE  OLD  MASTERS — HIS  FRUITLESS  SEARCH  FOR 
THE  KREMLIN — THE  MOSCOW  RAG -FAIR — THE 
PETROVSKY  PALACE — DINING  IN  THE  GROUNDS. 

THE  Russians  are  semi-Orientals  in  one  respect. 
They  are  not  as  sternly  utilitarian  as  we  of  the 
West.  The  man  with  the  long,  blue  tunic  corded 
at  the  waist,  and  the  cap  decked  with  peacock- 
feathers,  who  received  us  with  speechless  effusion 
at  the  Moscow  railway-station,  was  ornamental,  not 
useful.  He  did  not  take  charge  of  our  hand-bags 
or  shawl-strap.  .  That  was  done  by  another  man, 
who  wore  no  peacock-feathers.  He  did  not  drive 
the  carriage  and  four  (white  horses  abreast)  from 
the  station  to  the  hotel.  He  sat  by  the  driver's 
side,  erect  and  imposing.  I  was  moved  by  a  pow- 
erful curiosity  to  know  what  he  did,  except  to 
impress  the  stranger  with  a  sense  of  barbaric 
splendor. 

Whenever  I  had  occasion  to  leave  the  hotel,  I 


THE  PEACOCK-FEATHER  MYSTERY.       297 

always  found  one  of  the  pair  (for  there  were  two 
of  these  magnificent  retainers)  at  his  post  on  or 
near  the  door-steps,  gazing  into  vacancy.  On  my 
return  I  never  failed  to  see  the  peacock-feathers 
vibrating  above  any  crowd  of  servitors  or  visitors 
who  might  be  sunning  themselves  in  front  of  the 
Slaviansky  Bazaar.  But  what  did  this  man  do? 
Such  was  the  question  that  haunted  my  practical 
Western  mind.  I  decided  to  watch  him  and  find 
out. 

One  morning  I  took  my  station  for  this  purpose 
near  the  entrance,  where  I  could  observe  his  move- 
ments at  my  leisure.  The  taller  and  finer-looking 
of  the  two  was  on  duty  (if  such  it  can  be  called) 
at  that  hour.  The  feathers  in  his  cap  were  quite 
new,  and  their  gold  and  green  eyes  gleamed  iri- 
descent in  the  sunlight.  His  long,  blue  tunic  was 
nicely  brushed,  and  his  boots  were  highly  polished. 
There  he  stood,  almost  motionless,  save  when  he 
shifted  the  weight  of  his  body  from  one  leg  to  the 
other.  He  was  in  a  position  where  he  could  be 
seen  by  everybody  who  entered  or  left  the  hotel. 
While  I  remained  there  on  the  watch,  some  trunks 
were  brought  in,  but  he  did  not  lend  a  hand. 
Other  trunks  were  taken  out  to  the  sidewalk,  but 
he  held  aloof  from  them.  He  neither  gave  nor 
received  orders.  His  patient  attitude  and  his 
calm  stoicism  reminded  one  of  the  North  Ameri- 


298  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

can  Indian.  Only  once  did  he  exhibit  any  sign 
of  interest  in  mundane  affairs.  That  was  when  a. 
horse-fly  or  blue-bottle  buzzed  about  his  head  in 
a  very  provoking  way.  He  could  not  conceal  his 
annoyance;  and,  when  the  insect  alighted  on  a 
door-post  near  him,  he  leaned  over  and  killed  it 
with  a  quick  stroke  of  his  huge  palm,  and  in- 
stantly resumed  his  erect  position.  At  that  pre- 
cise moment  I  caught  his  eye,  and  smiled  at  him. 
But  he  did  not  smile  back.  That  would  not  have 
been  dignified,  and  dignity  was  apparently  his  sole 
object  in  life. 

My  observations  were  here  interrupted.  A 
young  man  whom  I  had  previously  noticed  loiter- 
ing about  the  hotel  stepped  up  to  me,  and  asked 
in  a  pleasant  voice,  "  Are  you  an  American,  sir  ?  " 

I  knew  at  once  that  he  was  a  compatriot,  and 
judged  from  his  accent  that  he  was  a  Philadel- 
phian.  He  was  a  nicely-dressed,  wholesome  youth, 
and  I  warmed  to  him. 

Being  assured  that  I  was  an  American,  he  be- 
gan to  talk  freely,  as  if  he  had  lawful  claims  on 
my  time  and  attention,  and  I  was  glad  to  give 
him  both,  although  he  broke  into  an  interesting 
investigation  and  caused  me  to  leave  a  problem 
forever  unsolved. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  if  there  is  a  picture-gallery 
of  the  old  masters  in  Moscow?" 


MANA  YUNK.  299 

"Nothing  to  speak  of.  The  only  collections 
of  old  paintings  worth  seeing  in  Russia  are  at 
Petersburg." 

"Sure  of  it?"  with  a  pleased  expression  in 
his  eyes. 

"  Perfectly." 

"  You  can't  imagine  how  glad  I  am  !  " — and  his 
face  testified  his  joy. 

"Why?" 

"  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  Seeing  that  you  are 
another  American.  My  aunt  is  a  great  admirer 
of  old  china,  old  furniture,  and  old  pictures.  She 
has  plenty  of  money,  and  her  house  at  Manayunk, 
Philadelphia,  is  just  full  of  'em.  I'm  her  only 
nephew.  But  I  am  boring  you,  perhaps." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  I,  really  interested,  and  curi- 
ous to  know  why  he  rejoiced  over  the  absence 
of  the  old  masters  from  Moscow.  "  Fire  away." 

"  Thank  you.  Well,  you  see,  my  aunt  would 
give  anything  if  she  could  come  to  Europe,  and 
go  through  all  the  galleries  that  tire  me  so"- 
and  he  heaved  a  sigh.  "  But  she's  afraid  to  cross 
the  ocean.  So  she  made  me  promise  that  I  would 
go  and  see  the  most  famous  pictures  of  the  old 
masters  —  the  she-durvs,  they  call  'em — and  de- 
scribe 'em  for  her  in  my  letters,  the  best  I  know 
how.  It's  no  fun,  I  assure  you,  but  then  she's 

my  aunt." 

14 


300  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

"  And  you  her  favorite  nephew "  (with  a 
smile). 

"  Exactly.  And  I  want  to  repay  some  of  her 
kindness.  For  she  is  real  good  to  me.  Of  course, 
I  don't  pretend  to  judge  'em  for  myself.  All  I 
have  to  do  is  to  praise  'em  to  Auntie.  I  can't 
lay  it  on  too  thick  for  her.  It  was  a  big  job  at 
Petersburg,  you  bet." 

"Why  at  Petersburg?" 

"  Because  there's  such  an  awful  lot  of  the  old 
masters  there — the  real,  genuine  things.  I  must 
have  seen  sixty  or  seventy  Rubenses  at  the  Her- 
mitage ;  and  about  an  acre  of  Rembrandts,  and,  as 
for  the  Van  Dycks,  they  made  me  sick.  Do  you 
know,"  he  continued,  speaking  low,  as  if  imparting 
a  great  secret,  "  that  a  man  can  get  to  hate  Murillo, 
if  he  sees  enough  of  him?" 

I  replied  that  I  could  understand  his  feelings 
of  satiety.  "The  full  soul  loatheth  the  honey- 
comb," etc. 

"  I  forgot  to  say  that  the  old  fellow  I  loathe 
most  of  all  is  Botticelli.  And  he's  the  very  one 
Auntie  is  craziest  about.  She  has  collected  all  the 
photographs  of  his  pictures  she  could  get  in  Ameri- 
ca and  I  am  adding  to  the  stock  all  I  can  pick  up 
in  Europe." 

"  But  there  are  not  many  Botticellis  in  the 
world.  At  least,  I  find  them  scarce.  That  old  fel- 


THE  OLD  MASTERS. 


301 


low,  as  you  call  him,  can  not  trouble  you  very 
much." 

"  That's  it,"  said  Manayunk.  "  It's  the  scarcity 
of  Botticellis  that  gives  me  the  bother.  You  see 
Auntie  told  me  not  to  miss  a  Botticelli  on  any 
account.  I  have  to  look  over  all  the  pictures  for 
the  names  of  the  artists  to  be  sure  I  don't  skip 
him.  At  first  I  trusted  to  the  printed  catalogue, 
but  some  of  'em  are  old  and  not  corrected  up  to 
date ;  and  then,  again,  the  pictures  are  changed 
about,  and  the  numbers  get  mixed." 

"  You  are  conscientious  at  any  rate,  and  do  not 
neglect  your  aunt's  commission." 

"  Yes.  She  is  very  much  pleased,  she  writes 
me,  and  thinks  I'm  becoming  a  good  judge  of  the 
old  masters.  That's  because  I  puff  'em  so,  I  sup- 
pose. But  I  tell  you,  I'm  right  glad  of  a  rest  here. 
All  I  really  had  to  see  in  Moscow  was  the  Kremlin 
and  the  big  bell.  I've  seen  the  bell,  but  isn't  it 
strange  I  can't  find  the  Kremlin?" 

"  Can't  find  the  Kremlin  ?  "  I  echoed,  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"At  all  events,  the  droschky-drivers  can't  or 
won't  take  me  to  it.  Kremlin,  I  am  told,  is  a  good 
Russian  word,  and  I  should  think  the  Russians 
ought  to  understand  it.  The  first  day  I  came  here, 
I  jumped  into  a  droschky,  and,  said  I,  '  Kremlin  ! ' 
The  man  nodded,  and  off  we  went  like  a  flash. 


302  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

Just  at  the  head  of  the  street,  we  passed  through 
an  opening  in  a  wall  and  came  into  another  part  of 
Moscow.  It  is  full  of  churches  and  buildings  that 
look  like  palaces,  but  I  don't  care  about  them  any 
more.  I  didn't  know  the  Russian  words  for  '  big 
bell,'  but  the  driver  went  to  it  without  my  asking. 
When  I  had  looked  at  that  long  enough,  I  said 
'  Kremlin '  again,  very  plain.  The  driver  nodded, 
and  away  we  went.  He  must  have  taken  me 
through  miles  of  streets,  and  I  was  expecting  every 
moment  he  would  pull  up  at  the  Kremlin.  But 
no,  he  kept  driving  on,  until,  after  about  half  an 
hour,  we  came  round  to  the  big  bell  again.  I  called 
'  Kremlin  '  at  him  once  more,  and  he  grinned  and 
waved  his  hand  about  in  a  sort  of  general  way.  I 
never  saw  anybody  so  stupid.  So  I  yelled  '  Slavian- 
sky  Bazaar  ! '  at  him,  and  he  brought  me  home.  Per- 
haps, now,  you  can  tell  me  how  to  find  the  fortress, 
prison,  or  whatever  it  is,  they  call  the  Kremlin." 

"  Here  is  where  you  feel  the  want  of  a  guide- 
book," said  I,  gently.  "  If  you  had  one,  you  would 
find  that  the  Kremlin  is  not  a  single  structure,  but 
is  the  name  of  a  great  inclosed  space  with  two 
miles  of  walls.  All  those  palaces  and  churches  of 
which  you  speak  are  within  the  Kremlin,  and  im- 
portant features  of  it.  The  poor  droschky-driver 
was  showing  you  the  Kremlin  all  the  time  to  the 
best  of  his  ability." 


THE  RAG-FAIR.  303 

Manayunk  looked  a  little  sheepish  at  this  ex- 
planation, as  it  reflected  on  his  want  of  intelligence. 
"  Thank  you,"  said  he,  hurriedly,  at  the  same  time 
consulting  his  watch,  and,  without  another  word,  he 
bolted  into  the  street. 

When  the  visitor  becomes  satiated  with  the 
splendors  of  Moscow,  he  may  find  it  pleasant — for 
a  change — to  make  a  tour  of  the  rag-fair  or  old- 
clothes  market.  The  site  is  an  open  space  of  about 
two  acres  in  the  heart  of  the  city.  From  dawn 
till  dark,  in  fair  weather,  it  is  filled  with  eager 
traders,  who  come  there  to  buy,  or  sell,  or  barter. 
The  second-hand  goods  are  generally  so  well  used 
up  that  they  may  be  placed  on  the  dirty  cobble 
stones  without  receiving  further  injury.  .There 
they  remain  arranged  as  neatly  and  compactly  as 
possible,  with  the  proprietor  standing  guard  over 
them  and  ready  for  business.  Only  a  few  of  the 
traffickers  have  stands  of  any  kind  for  the  exhibi- 
tion of  their  wares.  The  use  of  these  is  reserved 
for  the  more  aristocratic  merchants,  who  occupy 
sheltered  places  alongside  the  ancient  wall,  whose 
towering  height  affords  a  shade  for  them  during 
several  hours  of  the  day.  It  is  among  the  mul- 
titude who  spread  dilapidated  treasures  on  the 
ground  that  the  most  amusing  incidents  are  to  be 
noted  by  the  inquisitive  stranger. 


304  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

Articles  which  are  thrown  away  by  Americans 
as  wholly  valueless  would  be  offered  in  the  Moscow 
rag-fair  and  find  ready  purchasers.  Nothing  would 
seem  more  unlikely  to  be  bought  than  a  single 
boot,  the  mate  of  which  had  been  lost.  But  I  saw 
one  of  extraordinary  size — No.  15,  I  should  say — 
which  was  the  center  of  quite  a  gathering.  The 
boot  had  been  brilliantly  polished  for  the  occasion, 
and  I  supposed  at  first  that  it  was  the  specimen 
sign  of  some  enterprising  mujik  prepared  to  "  shine 
'em  up  "  for  ten  kopecks.  Then  I  noticed  a  man 
measuring  the  boot  by  the  standard  of  his  own 
foot,  to  see  if  it  would  suit  him.  It  was  about  an 
inch  too  long.  He  shook  his  head.  Other  specta- 
tors with  large  feet  stepped  forward,  and  made  the 
same  personal  comparison  with  the  urimated  boot. 
One  man  thrust  his  stockingless  foot  into  the  yawn- 
ing leather,  and  rattled  round  in  it  for  a  minute, 
much  to  the  amusement  of  the  bystanders.  Then 
he  gently  kicked  it  off,  and  evidently  dismissed  all 
thought  of  buying  it.  The  boot  was  unpatched, 
and  not  run  down  at  the  heel,  and  it  seemed  a 
great  pity  that  an  article  in  such  superior  condition 
should  go  unbought.  The  proprietor,  whose  only 
stock  in  trade  was  this  solitary  boot,  was  getting 
anxious,  when  relief  unexpectedly  arrived.  A 
strapping  fellow,  about  six  and.  a  half  feet  high, 
elbowed  his  way  through  the  throng  to  see  what 


THE   UNMATED  BOOT.  30$ 

was  going  on.  The  instant  his  eye  rested  on  the 
boot,  it  gleamed  with  surprise.  He  placed  his  own 
foot  by  the  side  of  it,  and  lo!  it  was  a  perfect 
match  !  I  could  see  in  his  face  astonishment  that 
another  boot  could  be  found  as  large  as  his  own. 
The  seller  at  once  saw  that  he  had  a  probable  cus- 
tomer before  him.  Then  began  a  lively  chaffering 
between  the  two  in  Russian,  in  which  the  specta- 
tors took  the  keenest  interest,  acting  the  part  of 
chorus  to  the  principals.  It  ended  in  the  sale  of 
the  odd  boot  at  a  price  to  me  unknown.  The 
buyer  took  it  in  his  hand  and  walked  off  with  it. 
Perhaps  to  this  day  he  is  trying  to  find  a  mate  for 
it  ready  made.  The  chances  must  be  strong 
against  his  success  in  that  search,  even  in  the  old- 
clothes  market  of  Moscow. 

I  saw  on  sale  a  dress-coat  of  which  one  of  the 
tails  had  been  torn  away.  It  may  have  belonged  to 
a  man  of  fashion,  or  to  a  waiter,  before  its  immedi- 
ate descent  to  this  low  destiny,  and,  in  either  case, 
the  history  of  that  lost  tail  would  doubtless  be  in 
teresting.  It  was  taken  up  and  minutely  inspected 
by  several  persons,  and  then  carefully  dropped  on 
its  assigned  place  in  the  dirt.  But  its  owner  did 
not  seem  discouraged,  for  he  knew  that,  sooner  or 
later,  some  man  would  present  himself  who,  per- 
haps,  had  purchased  the  missing  tail  from  some 
other  dealer,  and  was  looking  for  the  rest  of  the 


306  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

coat.  Among  the  other  bargains  offered  were  fry- 
ing-pans without  handles,  and  handles  without  fry- 
ing-pans ;  tables  and  chairs  that  needed  only  two 
or  three  legs  apiece  to  make  them  useful ;  coffee- 
mills  minus  cranks,  and  thermometers  with  smashed 
bulbs.  Asparagus  and  tomato  cans,  empty  and  bat- 
tered, such  as  would  be  tossed  into  the  garbage- 
barrel  or  gutter  in  the  United  States,  were  in  great 
request.  A  little  pile  of  them  vanished  in  five 
minutes. 

I  was  only  a  looker-on.  The  merchants  seemed 
to  understand  the  motive  of  my  presence  among 
them,  for  they  wasted  none  of  thjeir  appeals  on  me 
— with  one  exception.  This  was  the  case  of  a  man 
who  had  one  of  Lincoln  and  Bennett's  best  London 
hats  for  sale.  It  was  but  little  worn,  and  looked 
good  for  many  years  of  service  on  the  head  of  some 
conservative  middle-aged  gentleman  who  does  not 
approve  of  novelty  and  gloss  in  his  hats.  I  was 
wearing  a  Derby  at  the  time;  seeing  which,  the 
dealer  ventured  to  suggest  by  signs  that  I  should 
try  on  the  stove-pipe  pattern  which  he  held  entic- 
ingly toward  me.  Taking  me  for  an  Englishman, 
he  supposed  that  I  would  be  glad  to  acquire  a  Lon- 
don hat  at  a  price  doubtless  far  below  the  original 
figures.  He  implored  me  by  gestures  to  put  it  on. 
I  had  not  the  remotest  idea  of  buying  a  first-  or 
second-hand  hat  of  that  shape  while  traveling,  but, 


A  LONDON  HAT  ASTRAY.  307 

to  please  him,  I  consented  to  see  if  it  would  fit  me. 
A  large  number  of  idlers  looked  on  approvingly 
while  I  made  the  trial.  The  hat  was  decidedly  too 
small,  and  was  returned  to  the  dealer  with  a  shake 
of  the  head  made  as  emphatic  as  possible.  Where- 
upon he  did  exactly  what  I  have  seen  done  twenty 
times  by  hatters  in  various  parts  of  America.  He 
took  that  undersized  hat  and  began  to  stretch  it 
with  his  hands  one  way  and  compress  it  another 
way.  Then  he  drew  it  over  the  cap  of  his  knee  till 
I  thought  he  would  have  split  it  up  the  side.  Then 
he  bowed,  and  handed  it  to  me  again  for  another 
experiment.  I  made  the  politest  signs  of  declin- 
ing ;  and,  as  he  pressed  the  hat  upon  me  with  in- 
creased ardor,  improved  the  opportunity  offered 
by  a  gap  in  the  crowd  and  slipped  away  from  him. 
As  I  withdrew,  I  could  hear  murmurs  of  disap- 
proval among  the  bystanders.  They  thought  I 
ought  at  least  to  have  tried  on  the  hat  once 
more  after  it  had  been  so  carefully  enlarged  to 
suit  me. 

The  country  roads  in  the  environs  of  Moscow 
are  not  kept  in  good  repair.  They  abound  in  de- 
pressed places,  which  become  miry  pits  or  pools 
after  a  heavy  rain.  The  one  which  is  least  exposed 
to  these  criticisms  is  that  leading  to  the  Petrovsky 
Palace  and  Gardens,  a  few  miles  from  the  Kremlin. 


3o8  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

A  French  guide  and  interpreter  whom  we  had  se- 
cured for  a  day  or  two  recommended  us  to  visit 
the  Petrovsky  Palace,  because  Napoleon  occupied 
it  for  a  time  after  the  heat  and  smoke  of  burning 
Moscow  had  driven  him  beyond  the  walls.  It  was 
there  the  Emperor  took  his  last  look  at  the  gilded 
domes  and  spires  of  the  holy  city  as  they  glowed  in 
the  crimson  light.  It  was  from  this  palace  that  he 
sent,  by  relays  of  swift  couriers  to  Paris — as  if  bad 
news  does  not  travel  fast  enough  without  whip  and 
spur — the  intelligence  of  the  burning  of  Moscow, 
and  the  forced  retreat  of  the  grand  army  through 
the  snows.  Our  French  guide  thought  it  would 
give  us  great  pleasure  to  see  the  identical  room, 
chair,  table,  ink-stand,  and  pen  which  were  in- 
volved in  the  production  of  this  famous  dispatch. 
But  we  had  heard  of  Napoleon  at  every  turn  about 
Moscow  so  far,  and  were  quite  willing  to  forget 
him  for  a  few  hours.  Therefore,  we  at  first  de- 
clined the  proposition  to  go  out  to  the  Petrovsky 
Palace,  until  it  was  further  explained  that  a  good 
dinner  could  be  had  in  the  gardens  adjoining. 
Then  we  resolved  to  make  the  trip,  the  day  be- 
ing pleasant. 

The  ride  outside  the  city  walls  is  not  interest- 
ing until  the  Palace  Gardens  are  reached.  These 
are  laid  out  with  the  forethought  and  tended  with 
the  scrupulous  care  which  one  always  sees  in  the 


A  PROMISE    WELL  KEPT.  309 

public  grounds  of  Russia.  Visits  to  the  parks  in 
that  country  go  far  to  compensate  one  for  the  ab- 
sence of  more  natural,  diversified  scenery.  We 
spent  a  pleasant  hour  or  two  among  the  winding 
roads  and  footpaths,  obtaining  many  views  of  the 
palace  from  different  standpoints.  It  is  an  old- 
fashioned  building,  with  an  air  of  homely  comfort 
reflected  from  every  brick.  If  hoarded  memories 
of  twenty  or  thirty  other  palaces  in  Europe  had 
not  interfered,  we  should  hardly  have  been  able 
to  resist  the  importunities  of  our  guide  to  be- 
hold more  relics  of  his  adored  Napoleon.  At 
6  P.  M.  dinner  was  much  more  to  our  liking  than 
the  exhibition  of  rooms  in  endless  succession, 
however  thickly  crowded  with  souvenirs  of  the 
great. 

Our  man's  promise  about  a  good  dinner  was 
fulfilled.  The  restaurant  where  we  pulled  up  for 
the  momentous  transaction  is  small  but  nicely  kept. 
The  meal  was  served  in  a  pretty  little  garden  in 
the  rear  of  the  premises.  The  walls  were  masses 
of  climbing-plants  in  full  bloom.  Venerable  trees 
kept  off  the  still  warm  rays  of  the  declining  sun. 
A  fountain  shot  its  sparkling  jet  high  in  air,  and 
the  crystal  drops  tinkled  musically  as  they  fell 
back  into  a  marble  basin.  Our  round  table  was 
spread  under  a  mighty  oak.  Sparrows  of  the  un- 
adulterated English  type  hopped  familiarly  about 


310  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

us,  as  if  expecting  crumbs  from  the  forthcoming 
feast.  They  were  the  tamest  of  birds,  alighting  on 
the  tops  of  chairs  almost  within  reach.  At  times 
they  seemed  to  dare  one  to  drop  a  pinch  of  salt  on 
their  tails,  preparatory  to  catching  them,  accord- 
ing to  the  method  recommended  in  childhood. 
As  the  dinner,  besides  being  excellent,  was  lengthy 
and  in  quantity  superabundant,  there  was  plenty 
to  spare  for  the  companionable  sparrows.  They 
flocked  to  us  from  all  parts  of  the  grounds,  and  at 
one  time  the  chirping  congregation  could  have 
been  numbered  by  the  hundreds.  There  was  noth- 
ing particularly  Russian  about  the  dinner,  except 
the  soup,  which  was  serious  and  important.  From 
this  dish  the  central  island  of  meat  and  the  stuffed 
pastry-ball  are  never  absent.  The  occurrence  of 
a  meat  entree  between  the  soup  and  the  fish  is  an- 
other invariable  departure  from  the  Western  menus. 
There  was  an  abundance  of  sauces  served  upon 
meats  which  we  had  been  accustomed  to  eating 
quite  dry  or  in  their  natural  gravy.  Where  all 
was  good,  no  one  item — the  soup  excluded — lives 
in  my  recollection.  But  I  shall  not  soon  forget 
the  honest,  delicious  wine  of  the  Crimea.  A  lit- 
tle experience  with  the  Russian  vintages  had  im- 
pressed me  favorably.  They  have  not  the  taste 
or  the  heating  after-effect  of  the  French  wines 
which  are  now  so  commonly  fortified  and  other- 


OUR  FRIENDS,  THE  SPARROWS.  311 

wise  doctored  all  over  the  world,  and  not  least  in 
France  herself — and,  worst  of  all,  perhaps,  in  Paris. 
So  I  ordered  (through  the  Russian-speaking  guide) 
a  bottle  of  a  Crimean  brand.  It  was  an  accidental, 
but  fortunate,  choice.  The  wine  was  red,  and 
had  the  general  taste  rather  of  Burgundy  than 
of  Bordeaux.  But  it  had  a  bouquet  of  its  own ; 
it  dwelt  pleasantly  upon  the  palate,  and  it  pro- 
duced those  salutary  effects  of  gentle  warmth  and 
cheer  of  which  good  wine  may  still  be  capable 
if  not  abused  by  the  drinker.  But  one  may  travel 
thousands  of  miles  in  Europe  and  not  find  many 
wines  of  which  this  high  praise  could  be  justly 
spoken. 

The  English  sparrows — pests  in  America — were 
so  friendly  and  affable  in  their  way  that  we  were 
reluctant  to  leave  them.  But  we  finally  bade  them 
farewell  with  a  parting  largess  of  crumbs,  and 
returned  to  Moscow  by  the  light  of  the  setting 
sun.  As  we  quitted  the  pleasant  restaurant,  the 
proprietor  and  several  of  his  staff  flocked  about  to 
see  us  off,  and  looked  an  unutterable  good-by  with 
a  kindness  of  manner  which  touched  our  alien 
hearts.  I  took  pleasure  in  thinking  that  this  mark 
of  courtesy  was  paid  to  our  nationality.  The  guide 
knew  that  we  were  Americans,  and  doubtless  had 
mentioned  that  fact  to  the  people  at  the  restaurant. 
There  may  be  many  Russians  still  ignorant  of 


3I2  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW, 

America  and  Americans,  but,  among  the  vast  ma- 
jority in  every  part  of  Russia  who  are  aware  of 
the  friendly  relations  which  have  always  existed 
between  the  two  nations,  our  countrymen  are  sure 
of  a  cordial  welcome. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A  COMEDY   OF   PASSPORTS — MYTHICAL   POLICE 
ESPIONAGE. 

TRAVELERS  are  told  that,  the  farther  they  go 
into  Russia,  the  more  they  are  subjected  to  police 
espionage.  Whenever  at  St.  Petersburg  I  casually 
alluded  to  the  informality  of  the.  passport  examina- 
tions, any  English  tourist  with  whom  I  was  con- 
versing would  be  sure  ^to  say,  with  a  knowing 
smile,  "  Wait  till  you  get  to  Moscow."  "  But,  my 
dear  sir,"  I  would  rejoin,  "  the  time  to  be  strict  is 
when  one  is  entering  the  country.  The  object  of 
requiring  passports,  as  I  understand  it,  is  to  guard 
against  returning  Nihilists  and  dangerous  charac- 
ters generally.  I  do  believe  that  any  other  man 
could  have  come  in  on  my  passport,  for  nobody 
attempted  to  identify  me  by  my  own — perhaps 
flattering  —  description  of  myself.  When  it  was 
finally  handed  back  to  me  at  Wirballen,  the  only 
sign  that  it  had  been  inspected  was  a  little  round 
stamp  next  to  the  vist  of  the  Russian  consul-gen- 
eral at  Berlin." 


314  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

"Just  like  the  rascals,"  an  Englishman  once  said 
to  me,  lowering  his  voice  a  little.  "  I  wonder  if  in 
America  you  ever  heard  the  song  about  '  The 
Spider  and  the  Fly  '  ?  '  Come  into  my  parlor/  you 
know,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

I  told  him  that  it  was  not  entirely  unfamiliar  to 
me,  at  which  he  seemed  surprised. 

"  Well,"  he  continued,  "  Russia  is  the  spider, 
and  you  are  the  fly.  She  will  bleed  you  in  your 
pocket  if  not  in  your  veins."  He  stopped  to  laugh 
at  his  own  joke.  "  It's  easy  enough  to  get  in  ;  but, 
when  you  want  to  get  out,  and  go  to  the  police- 
office  for  a  permit,  you'll  see — " 

He  did  not  say  what  would  be  seen;  but  the 
vagueness  of  his  unfinished  remark  implied  some- 
thing terrible. 

I  had  heard  that  the  rooms  at  Russian  hotels  as- 
signed to  foreigners  were  all  provided  with  Judas- 
holes,  through  which  an  EYE  watched  the  inmates 
with  the  hope  of  surprising  them  in  the  act  of  load- 
ing up  bombs  with  dynamite.  The  thought  of  this 
scrutiny  was  horrible.  I  could  not  help  glancing 
uneasily  around  my  apartment  to  discover  the 
treacherous  orifice.  The  stucco-work  next  to  the 
high  ceiling  seemed  to  be  a  mighty  snug  place 
for  a  spy-hole,  the  dark  shadows  and  the  fes- 
tooned cobwebs  lending  themselves  to  its  conceal- 
ment. Once  I  seized  an  umbrella,  and  stood  on 


A   COMEDY  OF  PASSPORTS. 

a  chair  tip-toe,  and  reached  up  just  far  enough  to 
punch  the  ferule  into  a  spot  which  had  crumbled 
away  a  little  and  looked  like  a  hole.  If  there  was 
an  EYE  on  the  other  side,  its  owner  must  take  the 
consequences.  I  heard  no  scream  as  the  weapon 
pierced  the  ceiling.  As  it  was  withdrawn,  a  shower 
of  fine  plaster  followed,  powdering  my  hair  in  the 
true  style  of  the  last  century.  The  absurdity  of 
this  incident  dispelled,  once  and  for  all,  any  real 
fear  of  being  watched  in  that  way. 

If  the  St.  Petersburg  police  took  any  notice 
of  my  comings  and  goings,  I  was  unaware  of  it, 
though  always  seeking  to  discover  some  indica- 
tion of  their  surveillance.  At  the  Hotel  d'Europe 
I  had  surrendered  my  passport  to  the  head-porter 
by  request,  and  it  pleased  me  to  think  that  I  was 
not  neglected  by  a  paternal  government.  Next 
day,  when  it  was  politely  returned,  it  bore  no  fresh 
pen-mark,  seal,  or  stamp,  or  even  the  impression  of 
a  dirty  thumb,  to  show  that  it  had  been  opened. 
Since  the  police  did  not  seem  to  be  looking  after 
me,  I  determined  to  look  after  the  police. 

The  execution  of  this  design  was  reserved  for 
Moscow;  for  it  is  in  that  city,  according  to  the 
best  obtainable  information,  that  the  odious  feat- 
ures of  the  Russian  police  system  may  be  seen  at 
their  worst.  That  is  the  phase  of  it  with  which  I 
most  ardently  desired  to  become  acquainted.  I 


316  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

wanted  to  see  the  originally  immaculate  passport 
still  further  soiled.  It  was  really  provoking  that, 
up  to  the  time  of  reaching  the  Holy  City,  the 
following  were  the  only  indorsements  upon  it,  as 
translated  from  the  Russian: 

No.  4,710. 

Seen  at  the  Imperial  Russian  Consulate  for  go- 
ing to  Russia. 

BERLIN,  July  3/13,  1886.    . 

Consul-General,  KuDRiAVTZEFF. 

And,  adjoining,  was  the  stamp  affixed  at  the 
frontier,  containing  in  a  circle  the  words  "  Seen  at 
Verjbolovo  (Wirballen)  when  coming,  July  s/i7> 
1886." 

At  Moscow,  the  passport,  having  been  surren- 
dered at  the  hotel  as  usual,  came  back  next  day 
with  two  Russian  superscriptions.  There  was  a 
formal  entry  as  follows  : 

July  »/23,  1886. 

City  precinct.  In  the  house  No.  9,  presented 
and  recorded. 

For  the  captain  (signed), 

RALIKHIN. 

The  other  was  personal  and  cordial,  and  pro- 
duced a  gentle  thrill  of  gratitude  in  the  bosom  of 
the  recipient  of  the  courtesy : 


TREATMENT  OF  MIDDLE  NAMES.         317 

July  "/23,  1886. 

It  is  permitted  to  John  Bouton,  an  American 
citizen,  and  wife,  to  remain  in  Russia  until  January 
s/17,  1887.  For  further  stay  he  is  bound  to  obtain 
a  passport,  under  the  regulations  established  for 
foreigners  wishing  to  live  in  Russia. 

For  the  senior  clerk  (signed), 

VOLYNIA. 
(Gratis.) 

The  omission  of  my  middle  name  was  notice- 
able. At  first,  I  explained  it  on  the  theory  of  offi- 
cial carelessness,  from  which  no  country  is  exempt. 
Then  I  remembered  that,  in  the  Russian  nomencla- 
ture, there  is  no  recognized  middle  name,  except 
that  derived  from  the  father.  This  is  constructed 
by  adding  "  vitch  "  (son  of)  to  the  father's  Christian 
name.  In  the  case  of  the  present  writer,  it  would 
be  Nathanaeldvitck  (son  of  Nathaniel),  and  thus  it 
appears  in  the  Russian  version  of  the  title-page  of 
this  book.  And  the  present  place  may  be  as  good 
as  any  to  give  the  English  pronunciation  of  the 
first  six  Slavic  words  there  displayed.  They  read, 
"  OKOLNYM  POOTEM  vt;  MOSKVOO  —  EPIKOORAY- 

SKOYE   POOTESHESTVEEYE." 

Except  for  the  slight  immaterial  defect  already 
noted,  the  police  indorsement  at  Moscow  defies 
the  most  unfriendly  criticism,  even  of  Englishmen. 


3i8  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

Here  is  a  favor  extended  to  me  without  asking.  It 
exacts  no  conditions.  It  clothes  me  with  a  six 
months'  residence  in  Russia,  and  with  all  the  pro- 
tection of  her  laws.  And  to  this  truly  hospitable 
concession  is  attached  no  stamp  requiring  the  pay- 
ment of  any  fee.  Great  is  my  surprise  to  see,  in- 
stead of  the  customary  timbrey  the  familiar  word 
"gratis"  I  rub  my  eyes  hard  and  look  again. 
Yes,  it  is  no  accidental  combination  of  Russian 
characters  reading  "gratis,"  and  meaning  some- 
thing widely  different.  It  is  the  good  old  Latin 
word,  English  by  adoption,  and  known  even  in  far- 
away Russia,  which  we  often  see  coupled  with  sam- 
ples of  garden-seeds,  or  specimen  newspapers,  or 
bits  of  dress-patterns,  or  something  else  seeking  free 
introduction  and  circulation.  But  one  may  travel 
round  the  world,  and  find  not  many  places,  if  any, 
besides  Russia,  where  this  welcome  word  adorns 
government  paper  in  lieu  of  a  stamp  for  fees.  It  is 
like  a  shake  of  the  hand,  and  makes  one  feel  at 
home  among  strangers. 

And  this  same  word  "  gratis  "  started  another 
train  of  thought  not  wholly  complimentary  to  the 
United  States.  Up  to  this  time  my  total  outlay  to 
Russian  officials,  for  the  privilege  of  entering  and 
moving  freely  about  their  country,  footed  up  less 
than  forty-five  cents.  But  my  American  passport 
had  cost  me  five  dollars  from  first  hands.  True, 


AMERICAN  PASSPORT  FEES. 


319 


that  without  this  magic  document  I  could  not 
have  entered  Russia.  But  had  I  not  been  intend- 
ing to  visit  that  empire,  I  probably  should  not 
have  taken  out  a  passport,  for  in  previous  trips  to 
Europe  it  had  been  found  as  superfluous  for  exhi- 
bition purposes  as  a  college  diploma.  In  point  of 
fact,  therefore,  I  had  paid  our  State  Department, 
for  the  right  of  going  to  Russia,  more  than  ten 
times  as  much  as  Russia  herself  had  charged  for 
throwing  her  doors  wide  open !  Now,  it  seems  to 
me  that  a  government  with  an  annual  surplus 
which  encourages  the  most  foolish  extravagance 
and  waste,  might  afford  to  discard  this  tax  upon 
those  of  its  citizens  who  desire  to  go  abroad.  The 
American  passport-fee  should  be  abolished,  if  for 
no  other  reason  than  because  it  deters  our  people 
from  visiting  their  good  friends,  the  Russians.  I 
wonder  if  the  boast  "  Civis  Romanus  sum  " — that 
warning  to  all  the  barbarian  world  not  to  molest  a 
Roman  citizen — was  uttered  by  a  man  with  a  five- 
dollar  passport  stuck  in  the  folds  of  his  toga  ? 

Notwithstanding  this  most  agreeable  incident 
at  Moscow,  I  could  not  forget  the  unpleasant 
things  reported  about  the  Russian  police  sys- 
tem. I  could  think  of  no  surer  way  to  ascertain 
the  truth  than  to  go  to  police-headquarters,  ob- 
serve the  manners  of  the  chief  and  his  subordi- 
nates in  their  official  den,  and  note  their  treat- 


320  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

ment,  not  merely  of  an  American  citizen,  but  of  na- 
tives whom  one  might  chance  to  see  there.  For 
this  purpose  a  good  occasion  soon  presented  itself. 
Instead  of  profiting  by  the  gracious  permission  for 
a  six  months'  stay  in  Russia,  I  was  ungratefully 
meditating  an  early  departure ;  and,  in  order  to 
leave  the  country  without  hindrance,  must  secure 
a  police  permit.  With  this  business  as  the  pre- 
text, perhaps  the  depth  of  the  mystery  could  be 
plumbed. 

One  morning,  I  mentioned  this  purpose  to  one 
of  the  hotel  staff,  who  could  speak  a  little  French 
or  English  as  required,  and  who  stood  for  all 
we  ever  saw  of  the  "  administration,"  except  the 
cashier  in  the  settlement  of  bills.  He  raised  his 
eyebrows  and  shrugged  his  shoulders,  expressing 
at  once  surprise  and  dissuasion.  Then  he  explained 
in  a  dignified  way  that  the  guests  never  visited  the 
police  bureau  in  person — that  the  house  had  "an 
agent,"  "a  representative,"  "a  man"  (these  were 
some  of  the  descriptive  phrases  used),  who  was 
authorized  to  act  in  such  delicate  matters,  with 
the  consent  and  indeed  with  the  wish  of  the  po- 
lice, and  that  this  person  would  take  charge  of  my 
passport,  and  save  me  a  great  deal  of  time  and 
trouble. 

But  my  mind  was  made  up  to  interview  the 
chief  of  police,  and  so  I  cut  short  the  conversation 


HEADED  OFF.  321 

by  peremptorily  requesting  the  call  of  a  droschky. 
The  man  smiled,  with  another  shrug  of  the  shoul- 
ders, and,  beckoning  to  one  of  those  boys  whose 
smooth  chin,  flowing  hair  parted  in  the  middle, 
pork-pie  cap,  and  long,  blue  tunic  strapped  tightly 
about  the  waist,  make  them  look  like  girls,  spoke 
to  him  in  Russian.  I  followed  the  little  fellow  to 
the  sidewalk,  where  he  ordered  the  droschky  for 
me,  explaining  the  destination  to  the  driver,  and 
then  he  started  off  on  a  run. 

As  usual,  the  carriage  dashed  through  the 
streets  like  a  meteor.  But,  however  great  our 
speed,  I  always  saw  on  the  sidewalk,  just  ahead, 
the  girlish  dress  and  streaming  hair  of  the  hotel- 
boy.  I  wondered  what  imperative  business  caused 
his  race  against  time — or  was  it  against  the  drosch- 
ky ?  Not  'the  latter  evidently,  for  in  a  few  min- 
utes he  disappeared  down  an  alley.  A  quarter  of 
an  hour  later,  after  quite  a  circuit  of  stony  streets, 
we  entered  a  little  court-yard,  and  halted  opposite 
a  door  with  a  Russian  inscription  on  the  lintel. 
The  driver  signaled  me  to  descend  and  go  in. 
Opening  the  door,  I  saw  before  me  a  narrow  stair- 
way, and,  at  the  head  thereof — the  hotel-boy.  His 
round,  innocent  face  was  flushed,  and  he  puffed 
audibly.  That  last  half-mile  had  nearly  done  for 
him.  He  looked  down  and  beamed  at  me  as  I 
climbed  the  steps.  I  playfully  shook  my  finger  at 


322  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

him,  at  the  same  time  taking  my  passport  from  a 
side-pocket. 

With  a  roguish  laugh,  he  snatched  it  from  my 
hand  and  scampered  away  before  I  could  stop  him. 
I  followed  as  fast  as  possible  through  some  half- 
lighted  passages  into  what  seemed  an  anteroom, 
where  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  flying  blue  tunic 
and  tossing  locks  as  he  entered  a  larger  apartment 
beyond.  Before  me  was  a  soldier  or  policeman 
(convertible  terms  in  Russia),  who  motioned  me 
to  a  seat,  which  was  a  rude  bench.  Upon  my 
heels,  as  I  entered  the  anteroom,  trod  another 
policeman,  who  drew  up  inside  as  if  awaiting  fur- 
ther orders.  To  a  casual  observer,  ignorant  of 
the  truth,  I  should  have  appeared  to  be  under 
arrest,  with  these  two  sworded  gorodovois  mount- 
ing guard. 

I  could  do  nothing  but  wait  till  the  boy  had 
executed  the  commission  of  obtaining  my  leave 
for  departure,  for  which  it  was  then  evident  he 
had  been  privately  sent  from  the  hotel  ahead  of 
me,  contrary  to  my  expressed  wish.  So  1  philo- 
sophically improved  the  occasion  to  look  about 
the  place.  From  my  position  one  could  see  into 
the  adjoining  large  room.  There,  at  a  square  table, 
sat  a  middle-aged  man  with  a  refined  face,  a  mus- 
tache artistically  curled,  and  a  delicate  white  hand, 
on  the  little  finger  of  which  sparkled  a  large  dia- 


POLICE  HEADQUARTERS.  323 

mond  that  shone  to  great  advantage  as  he  raised 
it  to  his  lips  and  withdrew  or  replaced  a  cigarette. 
Before  him  was  a  pile  of  papers,  which  he  was 
signing,  or  indorsing,  or  stamping  with  official 
seals,  and  looking  somewhat  bored  as  he  per- 
formed that  automatic  task.  Men  came  and  bowed 
to  him  deferentially,  and  took  orders  which  issued 
languidly  from  his  lips  between  the  whiffs.  That 
imp  of  a  boy  stood  in  the  background,  with  the 
precious  passport  opened  out  wide,  so  that  I  could 
see  the  spread-eagle  water-mark  (about  two  feet 
square)  through  it  against  a  window.  He  grinned 
as  he  caught  my  eye,  and,  though  I  now  feared 
that  he  had  baffled  my  cherished  design  of  pene- 
trating the  sanctum  sanctorum,  I  could  not  help 
smiling  back  at  him ;  observing  which  act,  one  of 
the  policemen  standing  near  looked  hard  at  me  as 
if  to  check  the  display  of  any  levity  in  that  place. 
So  I  became  grim  again,  and  fell  to  contrasting  the 
stylish  and  genial  appearance  of  the  police  magnate 
yonder  with  the  serious,  gruff,  heavy-bearded,  and 
cruel-eyed  person  who  would  have  seemed  (accord- 
ing to  English  reports)  the  most  natural  occupant 
of  that  chair. 

Meanwhile  my  curiosity  was  also  excited  in 
another  quarter.  Just  in  front  of  me,  within  a 
space  inclosed  by  an  iron  railing  with  an  elaborate 

pattern  of  cross-bars,  was  a  little  crowd  of  Rus- 
15 


324  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

sians.  They  were  all  looking  by  turns  at  me—and 
at  the  two  policemen.  "Can  it  be  possible,"  I 
thought,  "  that  they  —  evidently  prisoners  them- 
selves, penned  up  there  and  awaiting  orders  which 
will  consign  them  to  dungeons  or  to  Siberia — sup- 
pose me  also  to  be  under  arrest  ?  I  certainly 
detect  in  their  faces  marks  of  sympathy  and  fel- 
low-feeling." 

I  study  the  motley  group  at  leisure.  One  of 
the  number  may  have  been  a  student,  for  he  had 
a  thoughtful  face;  but  I  was  pained  to  remark  a 
fierce  expression  in  his  eyes,  as  if  he  had  ab- 
sorbed the  deadly  virus  of  Nihilism.  "  Rash  boy  ! 
most  likely  implicated  in  the  latest  plot  (for  full 
particulars,  see  highly  imaginative  dispatches  in 
the  London  press)  for  assassinating  the  Tsar.  And 
there  is  a  young  girl  with  a  pretty  face ;  another 
Nihilist,  probably — the  misguided  student's  sweet- 
heart, it  may  be.  They  say  that  women  are  the 
most  fanatical  disciples  of  the  new  dispensation. 
By  her  side  stands  a  priest  of  the  Greek  Church 
in  his  cylindrical  black  cap  and  full  robes,  which 
he  has  disgraced  by  some  offense — trivial,  let  us 
hope.  But  he,  too,  may  be  a  Nihilist,  for  we  are 
to!4  that  the  gospel  of  anarchy  draws  some  recruits 
from  the  ranks  of  the  priesthood."  A  soldier  in 
fatigue-dress,  and  some  other  men  or  women  whose 
Station  in  life  one  could  not  fix,  composed  the  rest 


A  FRUITLESS  MISSION.  325 

of  the  company  behind  that  grill,  all  (perhaps)  ar- 
rested for  alleged  Nihilism.  This  gave  them,  in 
my  eyes,  a  tragic  interest  which  the  common  ruck 
of  misdemeanants  would  have  lacked.  Who  can 
tell  what  they  thought  of  me,  as  they  reciprocated 
the  curiosity  bestowed  upon  them  ? 

Engrossed  in  these  interesting  speculations,  I 
had  clean  forgotten  the  object  of  my  visit  until 
recalled  from  the  reverie  by  the  apparition  of  the 
ever-smiling  boy.  He  stood  before  me  with  the 
passport  open,  and  pointed  out  a  new  streak  of  in- 
scription running  down  the  back.  It  had  been 
obligingly  furnished  without  any  further  informa- 
tion about  my  identity  than  he  had  supplied. 
Thus  ended  ingloriously  the  only  opportunity 
which  had  presented  itself  to  learn  from  personal 
observation  anything  about  the  police  system  of 
Russia.  I  folded  the  passport  with  a  sigh,  and 
thrust  it  into  its  pocket.  As  I  did  so,  one  of  the 
gorodovois  courteously  indicated  that  my  departure 
was  now  in  order.  His  long  forefinger  pointed  to 
the  door. 

As  I  rose  to  go,  an  official-looking  personage 
came  out  of  the  chief's  audience-room  and  walked 
briskly  to  the  little  knot  of  expectant  culprits  be- 
hind that  iron  railing,  which  needed  only  a  roof 
to  make  it  a  cage.  I  halted  a  moment  to  see 
what  would  happen  next.  The  Nihilists  began  to 


326  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

look  anxious,  and  I  shared  their  emotions.  What 
followed  was  interpreted  to  me  by  gestures  which 
could  not  be  mistaken.  The  official  personage 
shook  his  head  at  the  group,  as  if  he  were  deny- 
ing them  something.  They  seemed  to  entreat  him. 
He  only  shook  his  head  more  determinedly.  As 
they  persisted  in  trying  to  overcome  his  objections, 
he  brandished  both  hands  at  them  in  a  manner 
which  plainly  said  :  "  It's  no  use  ;  go  away  ;  out  of 
this  now ! "  And  this  with  so  much  energy  that 
the  party  in  the  pen  instinctively  fell  back ;  and,  as 
they  did  so,  the  door  behind  them  was  flung  open, 
disclosing,  not  a  perspective  of  cells  as  I  had  ex- 
pected, but  an  outside  stairway,  the  blue  sky,  and 
a  tree  in  leaf,  all  belonging  to  the  free  world,  into 
which  they  hastened  for  the  labors  or  pleasures  of 
the  day !  Putting  this  and  that  fact  together,  I 
was  impelled  to  the  conclusion  that  these  people 
were,  after  all,  not  Nihilists  or  offenders  of  any 
rank,  but  only  respectable  citizens  of  Moscow,  who 
had  called  at  the  chief's  office  to  lay  some  request 
before  him,  and  that  he  had  either  decided  to  deny 
it,  or  else  had  put  off  their  reception  to  another 
day.  And  I  never  came  any  nearer  than  this  to 
identifying  a  Nihilist  in  Russia. 

Translated  into  English,  this  final  indorsement 
of  the  passport  reads  as  follows: 


FREE   TO  GO.  327 

July,  i5/27,  1886. 

On  behalf  of  the  local  police,  there  is  no  ob- 
jection to  John  Bouton  and  wife,  American  citi- 
zens named  in  this  passport,  leaving  Moscow  for 
abroad.  Captain  of  the  city  precinct, 

(Signed)  DVORONIN. 

There  was  quite  a  galaxy  of  stamps  affixed, 
making  a  total  charge  of  ninety-five  kopecks — less 
than  fifty  cents  gold  value.  The  hotel  assumed 
the  payment  of  this  fee,  and,  adding  a  trifle  for 
the  services  of  its  "  representative,"  or  "  agent,"  or 
"  man  "  (the  small  boy),  inserted  in  my  bill  a  lump 
item  of  one  ruble  fifty  kopecks  on  "passport"  ac- 
count. And  I  advise  all  American  tourists  to  trans- 
act this  kind  of  business  by  proxy  instead  of  wast- 
ing droschky-fares  in  unproductive  visits  to  the 
chief  of  police. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

SUMMER  WEATHER  IN  RUSSIA — ST.  PETERSBURG 
AND  MOSCOW  ENOUGH  FOR  SIGHT-SEERS — M. 
KATKOFF  AND  HIS  GAZETTE — TSAR  AND  PEOPLE 
— REPUBLICAN  POSSIBILITIES  OF  THE  COSSACK. 

AFTER  one  has  packed  trunks,  paid  hotel  bills, 
bought  railway-tickets,  procured  a  supply  of  ru- 
bles and  kopecks  from  his  banker,  and  made  every 
preparation  to  leave  Germany  for  Russia,  it  is 
discouraging  to  be  told  that  he  has  chosen  the 
wrong  season  for  visiting  that  country. 

"  The  winter,  sir,  is  the  only  time  to  see  Russia. 
St.  Petersburg  is  like  a  furnace  in  July.  It  is  a 
rainless  month.  The  streets  are  never  watered, 
and  when  the  winds  blow — mostly  from  the  south, 
making  the  air  still  hotter — you  are  smothered 
with  dust.  The  mosquitoes — " 

But  I  had  heard  enough.  It  was  too  late  to 
back  out  from  the  Russian  trip,  and  I  did  not 
care  to  know  the  worst.  So  I  interrupted  the 
speaker  with  the  question,  "When  did  you  leave 
St.  Petersburg  ?  " 


SUMMER    WEATHER  IN  RUSSIA.  329 

He  colored  a  little.  "  Oh,  I  have  never  been 
there  myself!  No  money  would  tempt  me  to  go 
to  Russia  before  December,  at  least.  I  am  only 
telling  you  what  everybody  knows.  The  books 
are  full — " 

"  Of  probable  misstatements  on  these  points," 
said  I,  finishing  the  sentence  for  him.  "  I  know 
that  English  writers  are  unanimous  about  the 
heat  of  a  St.  Petersburg  July.  But  then  English- 
men complain  of  every  temperature  over  70°. 
Americans  are  less  fond  of  cold  weather.  I  will 
learn  the  truth  for  myself.  Good-evening." 

The  man  with  whom  I  held  this  conversation 
looked  like  a  professor  in  some  small  Western 
college.  I  had  met  him  by  chance  in  the  rooms 
of  the  American  ^Exchange  at  Berlin.  Overhear- 
ing me  say  that  I  was  bound  to  Russia  that  night, 
he  had  proceeded  to  draw  upon  his  large  store 
of  book-knowledge  for  my  benefit.  His  positive 
manner  was  probably  borrowed  from  the  class- 
room ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  he  was  pained  be- 
cause I  did  not  take  his  advice  on  trust,  with 
many  thanks,  like  a  docile  pupil. 

As  an  American  accustomed  to  "summer  heat," 
I  declare  St.  Petersburg  to  be  very  comfortable  in 
July.  Neither  there  nor  at  Moscow,  four  hundred 
miles  farther  south,  have  I  seen  more  than  80°  F. 
registered  in  the  shade,  and  the  mid-day  tempera- 


330 


ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 


ture  touched  much  lower  figures  during  my  stay. 
Clothed  accordingly,  one  may  ride  or  walk  in  the 
open  air  at  high  noon,  and  revel  in  the  bright 
sunshine  unharmed.  There  were  several  rainfalls 
which  were  more  than  showers.  They  cooled  the 
air  to  the  point  of  chilliness,  and  effectually  laid 
the  dust.  At  no  time  were  the  streets  swept  by 
the  wind  with  the  sirocco-effects  described  in  some 
English  books.  Even  the  largest  open  squares 
were  free  from  the  predicted  nuisance.  Dressed 
in  light  woolen,  and  armed  with  an  umbrella 
against  the  sun  or  the  rain,  the  American  will 
have  no  occasion  to  carp  at  the  Russian  weather  in 
those  months  when  his  compatriots  at  home  are  flee- 
ing for  coolness — and  not  always  finding  it — to  the 
mountains  and  the  sea-shore.  Contrasting  his  com- 
fort with  the  sufferings  he  would  have  undergone 
in  New  York,  Philadelphia,  or  Boston,  he  can  feel 
only  gratitude  for  the  endurable  summer  weather 
of  St.  Petersburg.  He  is  unvexed  by  mosquitoes 
and  the  flies  are  well-behaved. 

A  Russian  winter  may  be  all  that  Gautier  paints 
it ;  but,  if  that  brilliant  Frenchman  had  been  thin 
instead  of  stout,  with  less  inside  room  for  the  stor- 
age of  solids  and  liquids  as  a  sure  defense  against 
Arctic  rigors ;  arid,  if  he  had  been  obliged  to  look 
after  anybody  besides  Gautier,  he  might  have  hesi- 
tated to  take  the  journey  whose  record  gives  so 


ATTRACTIONS  FOR  SIGHT-SEERS.          331 

much  pleasure  to  readers.  And,  remember,  his 
point  of  departure  was  Paris,  not  New  York.  A 
trip  from  America  to  St.  Petersburg,  merely  to 
verify  Gautier's  impressions  there,  would  hardly 
pay  for  the  cost,  time,  and  trouble.  Americans 
prefer  to  pass  the  cold  months  in  Italy  or  Egypt 
or  the  Holy  Land,  or  some  other  sunny  clime,  and 
leave  to  more  adventurous  souls  the  pleasures — 
such  as  they  are — of  a  Russian  winter.  Every- 
thing that  the  ordinary  tourist  cares  to  see  can  be 
seen  in  July  as  well  as  in  January.  The  Winter 
Palace  in  St.  Petersburg  is  closed  in  summer,  it  is 
true ,  but  the  Hermitage,  with  its  glut  of  pictures 
and  bric-ct-brac,  is  open.  So  is  Tsarskoe  Selo,  a 
little  distance  outside  of  the  city.  There  are  many 
other  palaces  in  or  about  the  capital,  mostly  acces- 
sible in  summer.  Private,  if  not  public,  admittance 
can  be  had  to  every  museum  and  library.  The  Tsar 
may  be  absent  during  the  warmer  months,  but  the 
visitor  would  probably  not  get  a  look  at  him  or  any 
of  the  imperial  family  in  winter.  If  the  nobility  are 
also  missing,  the  innocent  American  does  not  know 
it,  as  he  has  no  means  of  telling  a  prince  from  a  ple- 
beian. If  the  entire  court  and  all  the  fashionable 
element  are  away,  St.  Petersburg  has  not  been 
carried  off  with  them.  And  that  city,  and,  still 
more,  Moscow,  are  at  all  times  so  full  of  interest 
on  a  hundred  accounts  that  one  does  not  pause  to 


332  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

think  whether  their  attractions  would  or  would 
not  be  greatly  heightened  by  the  presence  of  snow 
six  feet  deep  on  a  level,  or  by  the  return  of  the 
Tsar  from  Peterhof  or  Gatschina. 

Russia  is  fortunate  in  the  possession  of  two 
great  capitals.  St.  Petersburg  is  the  civil  and 
Moscow  the  religious  center  of  a  double  adminis- 
tration. Paris  is  the  only  city  of  France  that  most 
Americans  desire  to  visit.  That  city  is,  indeed, 
France  in  the  sense  that  Parisians  claim  for  her ; 
and  the  rest  of  the  republic  is  but  a  matter  of  de- 
tail. Similarly,  St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow  are 
Russia.  By  sojourning  a  few  days  in  each  city, 
one  can  gather  sufficient,  if  superficial,  knowledge 
of  the  Russian  people,  their  religious  and  secular 
institutions,  their  amusements,  their  business  ways, 
their  modes  of  living,  to  correct  a  host  of  errors 
into  which  prejudiced  authors  have  led  him.  If 
he  is  a  student  of  natural  history,  an  ethnologist, 
a  profound  investigator  of  social  problems — if  he 
desires  to  see  with  his  own  eyes  how  the  exiles 
fare  in  Siberia,  or  whether  the  petroleum-wells  of 
Baku  are  running  dry,  or  how  the  railway  to  Merv 
is  getting  along — he  may  spend  many  months  in 
Russia  acquiring  interesting  information.  But,  if 
he  wants  a  good  time,  with  the  minimum  of  dis- 
comfort, while  he  is  packing  away  in  the  odd  cor- 


AN  IMPORTANT  NEWSPAPER. 


333 


ners  of  his  brain  the  things  most  truly  worth  know- 
ing about  Russia,  let  him  stick  to  St.  Petersburg 
and  Moscow.  There  he  will  find  hotels  first  class 
in  all  respects,  easy  carriages,  and  French  (if  not 
English)  newspapers.  Unless  he  is  a  critical  ana- 
lyst of  race  peculiarities,  he  will  be  satisfied  with 
the  many  varieties  of  Russia's  population  which  he 
sees  in  Moscow  alone.  And,  as  to  souvenirs  of  the 
country,  he  will,  perhaps,  be  more  fortunate  in 
picking  them  up  at  bargains  in  the  Gostinnoi 
Dvors  of  the  two  capitals  than  if  he  hunted  and 
chaffered  for  them  at  the  crowded  and  noisy  fair  of 
Nijni-Novgorod. 

In  the  restaurants  and  reading-rooms  one  often 
notices  little  groups  of  Russians  earnestly  scanning 
the  columns  of  a  newspaper  in  their  own  language. 
It  is  a  large,  four-page  sheet,  usually  accompanied 
by  a  supplement.  Perhaps  one  will  read,  and  the 
others  will  listen.  At  times  they  seem  deeply  in- 
terested, hanging  upon  the  words  that  are  uttered 
as  if  they  were  revelations  of  the  greatest  moment. 
The  expression  of  their  faces  is  unbroken  by  any 
trace  of  levity.  They  lay  the  paper  down,  and 
seem  to  be  discussing  what  has  been  read.  Some- 
times one  observes  marked  signs  of  dissent  from 
some  member  of  the  group,  but  more  commonly 
there  is  an  apparent  agreement  with  those  senti- 


334  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

ments  of  the  journal  which  have  provoked  the  de- 
bate. Seeing  the  same  scene  enacted  with  trifling 
variations  a  number  of  times,  I  became  anxious  to 
learn  the  occasion  of  it,  and  then  I  ceased  to  be 
surprised. 

The  paper  is  the  "  Moscow  Gazette "  ("  Mos- 
kovskeeya  Vedomostee  "),  edited  by  M.  Katkoff,  the 
man  who  wields  an  influence  in  Russia  second  to 
no  subject  of  the  Tsar.  We  are  told  that  the  Rus- 
sian press  is  fettered  and  crushed,  and  here  is  an 
editor  more  powerful,  for  good  or  ill,  than  any 
statesman  of  the  empire.  Holding  no  office,  reach- 
ing the  mind  of  the  Tsar  only  through  his  printed 
columns,  he  disputes  with  M.  de  Giers  (Minister  of 
Foreign  Affairs)  for  the  confidence  and  support  of 
their  common  master.  And,  hardly  less  impor- 
tant, he  makes  himself  felt,  through  the  widely 
distributed  "  Gazette,"  among  the  most  thought- 
ful circles  of  Russia.  In  all  the  foreign  offices  of 
Europe  his  opinions  are  carefully  studied,  being 
regarded  as  the  earliest  and  best  indications  of  the 
drift  of  Russian  sentiment.  For  M.  Katkoff  is, 
above  all  things,  a  Russian.  He  is  the  champion 
Panslavist.  He  advocates  the  federation  of  all 
branches  of  the  great  Slavic  race.  It  is  his  policy 
that  keeps  alive  the  national  jealousy  of  Germany 
and  Austria.  His  eyes  are  fastened  on  Bulgaria, 
Roumania,  and  Servia,  where  the  Slavic  popula- 


A  SLAVIC  FEDERATION.  335 

tion  is  a  strong  element.  Galicia  and  Bohemia  in 
Austria,  Posen  in  Prussia,  and  independent  little 
Montenegro,  are  among  the  regions  embraced  with- 
in the  wide  sweep  of  his  Slavic  sympathies.  A 
union  of  the  Slavs  for  any  purpose,  and  on  any 
scheme  of  protection  extended  by  the  great  Empire 
of  the  North  to  the  federated  provinces,  would  end 
in  their  consolidation  with  Russia  under  the  gov- 
ernment of  the  Tsar. 

Italy  and  Germany  have  each  been  substantially 
unified  on  the  same  principle.  If  it  is*admissible  in 
those  two  cases,  why  not  in  that  of  Russia  ?  Pan- 
slavism,  ably  upheld  in  the  "  Moscow  Gazette,"  can 
never  be  unpalatable  to  the  Tsar  or  the  people,  for 
it  strongly  appeals  to  patriotism  and  national  pride. 
Therefore,  M.  Katkoff  is  permitted  to  display  zeal 
in  this  direction  even  to  the  point  of  excess.  It  is 
only  when  his  feelings  betray  him  into  undue  hos- 
tility to  some  power — Germany  or  Austria,  for  ex- 
ample— with  which  the  Tsar  desires  to  keep  on 
good  terms,  that  the  Panslavist  leader  is  called  to 
order.  But  the  rebuke  takes  only  the  form  of  a 
summons  to  St.  Petersburg,  where  he  has  an  audi- 
ence, and  is  readily  restored  to  the  favor  which  he 
had  only  nominally  lost.  The  existence  of  such  a 
paper,  which  is  not  a  government  organ,  and  yet 
passes  as  such  among  most  of  its  readers — which 
can  be  approved  or  repudiated  at  pleasure,  just 


336  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

as  circumstances  may  require — is  a  great  conven- 
ience. It  must  be  understood  that  no  editor  would 
enjoy  the  license  given  to  M.  Katkoff  if  he  were  in 
the  least  degree  politically  unsound  or  disloyal. 
The  strength  of  his  position  lies  in  his  intense,  un- 
selfish devotion  to  Russian  interests,  his  passionate 
adherence  to  the  autocratic  system,  and  his  burn- 
ing hatred  of  all  those  revolutionary  elements  that 
would  precipitate  changes  for  which  Russia  is  not 

prepared. 

• 

A  foreigner  thrown  among  Russians,  who  can 
not  speak  his  language,  is  worse  off  than  a  visitor  to 
a  deaf  and  dumb  asylum,  the  inmates  of  which  can 
make  their  opinions  known  by  writing  or  by  signs. 
One  may  travel  all  over  Russia,  and  learn  nothing 
more  of  the  political  ideas  of  the  common  people 
than  when  he  entered  it,  if  he  depends  on  them  for 
enlightenment.  His  only  sources  of  information 
are  educated  Russians,  who  can  converse  in  his 
own  tongue,  or  English,  French,  or  German  resi- 
dents who  have  lived  in  the  country  long  enough 
to  understand  the  people  and  have  outgrown  their 
native  prejudices.  It  is  from  such  persons  that  I 
gathered  a  few  impressions,  which  went  far  to 
modify  views  formed  upon  the  strength  of  un- 
friendly English  publications. 

It  may  sometimes  be  true,  as  the  proverb  says, 


THE   TSAR'S  CHARACTER  AND  HABITS. 


337 


that  "  to  hear  the  news,  you  must  go  away  from 
home."  But  this  can  hardly  hold  good  in  the  case 
of  reports  relating  to  the  Tsar's  personal  character 
and  habits.  It  is  much  more  likely  that  the  asser- 
tions about  his  intemperance,  insanity,  and  brutal- 
ity, which  appear  in  the  London  "  Times,"  are  fic- 
tions, than  that  such  alleged  facts  should  be  totally 
unknown  among  intelligent  people  in  St.  Peters- 
burg, where  he  lives.  I  sought  in  vain  for  any  cor- 
roboration  of  the  reports  that  the  Tsar  ever  has 
the  delirium  tremens,  or  is  under  the  influence  of 
liquor,  or  exhibits  signs  of  madness,  or  has  a  vio- 
lent temper  and  is  abusive  to  his  ministers  and 
courtiers.  Nobody  with  whom  I  conversed  had 
ever  heard  any  rumors  of  this  kind,  except  as  they 
originated  from  known  reports  in  the  foreign  pa- 
pers. These  were  invariably  denounced  to  me  as 
malicious  inventions.  Old  English  dwellers  in  Rus- 
sia expressed  themselves  warmly  on  the  subject. 
They  felt  ashamed  at  the  wholly  unfounded  and 
outrageous  libels  heaped  by  the  press  of  London  on 
one  who,  so  far  as  they  know,  is  truly  temperate, 
free  from  any  taint  of  lunacy,  mild  and  reasonable 
in  his  intercourse  with  all.  They  spoke  of  him  as  a 
"  family  man,"  having  a  German  fondness  for  wife 
and  children  and  the  simple  pleasures  of  domestic 
life.  They  regretted  that  he  observed  so  strict  a 
seclusion ;  but  admitted  that  he  was  forced  to  be 


338  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

very  circumspect  in  his  movements  in  order  to  es- 
cape the  fangs  of  the  Nihilists.  All  my  informants 
pitied  the  Tsar  and  still  more  pitied  his  subjects, 
who  are,  in  large  measure,  deprived  of  that  direct 
personal  cognizance  of  their  needs  and  wishes 
which  might  prove  so  beneficial  to  them  if  the 
Nihilists  would  permit  it  to  be  freely  exercised.  It 
also  follows,  from  this  comparative  isolation  of  the 
Tsar,  that  the  powers  which  he  delegates  are  un- 
doubtedly in  many  cases  abused,  and  the  facts  are 
never  brought  to  his  paternal  knowledge. 

For  the  Tsar  is  not  only  the  executive  and  the 
law-making  power  of  the  state,  head  of  the  Church, 
fountain  of  justice,  commander-in-chief  of  the  army 
and  navy,  but,  more  than  all  these,  he  is  father  to 
his  people.  His  subjects  owe  him,  in  theory,  a 
filial  respect  and  obedience ;  and,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  Nihilists,  they  are  dutiful  children. 
The  relation  is  an  Oriental  one,  which  we  of  the 
West  can  not  understand.  But  it  is  powerfully  oper- 
ative in  Russia.  It  has  not  been  really  weakened  by 
anything  that  the  Nihilists  have  done,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  strengthened.  This  would  be  proved 
any  day  by  the  spontaneous  and  almost  universal 
response  of  the  Russian  people  to  any  call  for  sac- 
rifice which  their  father  should  make  upon  them. 

Some  foreign  writers  profess  to  fear  that  the 
Tsar  will  plunge  his  country  into  a  causeless  war, 


THE  TENDENCY  OF  RUSSIA.  339 

in  order  to  find  an  outlet  for  national  discontent. 
But  the  only  discontent  which  troubles  Russia  at 
present  is  that  of  the  Nihilists,  who  are  irreconcila- 
ble. No  war  in  behalf  of  some  Slavic  race,  or  to 
extend  the  boundaries  of  Russia,  or  to  possess  the 
Holy  Places,  would  have  their  sympathy.  They 
would  still  plot  against  the  life  of  the  one  man 
whose  murder,  according  to  their  shallow  view, 
might  bring  about  that  chaos  which  is  the  desire 
of  their  hearts.  The  assassination  of  Alexander  II 
did  not  promote  the  cause  of  Nihilism  in  the  least ; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  led  to  the  adoption  of  se- 
verer though  unsuccessful  measures  for  its  repres- 
sion ;  and  there  is  no  reason  to  think  that  the  re- 
moval of  the  present  sovereign  would  be  of  any 
advantage  to  the  cause  of  anarchy.  The  Tsars 
live  in  their  successors.  The  mighty  empire  which 
has  weathered  the  storms  of  a  thousand  years  is 
not  now  at  the  mercy  of  a  dynamite  bomb. 

The  undoubted  tendency  of  Russia  is  now  to- 
ward what  is  commonly  spoken  of  as  a  "  constitu- 
tional government."  This  is  not  following  a  gen- 
eral demand  of  the  people.  They  seem  to  be,  as  a 
rule,  quite  indifferent  to  it ;  but  it  is  believed  to  be 
favored  by  the  Tsar.  His  life,  aside  from  the  dread- 
ful menaces  of  Nihilism,  is  made  a  burden  to  him  by 
the  enormous  and  steadily  increasing  responsibili- 


340 


ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 


ties  of  his  position.  As  a  conscientious  man,  these 
must  press  upon  him  heavily,  no  matter  how  much 
he  seeks  to  distribute  them  among  the  ministers 
who  are  but  his  creatures.  If  he  could  be  assisted 
in  his  great  work  by  a  national  body,  in  some  sense 
representing  the  people,  and  if  his  ministers  were 
made  responsible  in  fact  instead  of  being  purely 
clerical  functionaries  as  at  present,  the  diabolical 
aims  of  the  Nihilists  would  be  frustrated  more 
surely  than  they  could  be  in  any  other  way.  The 
blind  hate  which  now  seeks  the  life  of  one  man  only 
would  then  lose  its  concentration.  It  would  then 
be  necessary  to  kill  or  terrorize  a  whole  ministry, 
or  a  majority  of  delegates — a  task,  the  difficulty  of 
which  would  probably  impress  the  most  unimagi- 
native of  Nihilists.  One  might  almost  predict  the 
disappearance  of  Nihilism  as  an  organized  danger 
in  Russia,  if  constitutionalism  could  somehow  be 
grafted  on  the  old  trunk.  (See  APPENDIX.) 

The  fifty  years  assigned  by  Napoleon  as  the 
period  during  which  Europe  would  become  either 
republican  or  Cossack,  passed  away,  leaving  his 
prophecy  unfulfilled.  But  his  own  France  is  a  re- 
public, and  more  liberal  principles  have  been  in- 
corporated in  all  the  imperial  and  monarchical 
governments  of  Europe.  If  there  is  a  drift  dis- 
cernible, it  is  toward  republicanism.  By  the  word 


THE  COSSACK  IN  THE  STREAM.  341 

"  Cossack "  Napoleon  meant  that  absolutism  of 
which  Russia  was  the  most  remarkable  example 
of  his  day.  But  the  Cossack  himself  is  now  in  the 
stream  with  the  rest.  It  will  be  perhaps  only  a 
question  of  time  when  he  will  be  as  well  fitted  for 
and  desirous  to  adopt  republican  institutions,  as 
the  man  of  any  other  race  in  Europe.  Who  can 
say  that,  wherever  the  Cossack  of  the  future  goes, 
he  may  not  carry  with  him  the  germ  of  republi- 
canism ?  It  is  this  possibility  which  lends  to  every 
sign  of  liberal  development  in  Russia  a  tremendous 
significance  in  the  eyes  of  Americans.  And  if  Rus- 
sia still  clings  by  preference  to  her  venerable  pa- 
ternal system,  that  is  no  reason  why  our  ancient 
friendship  for  that  great  country  and  people  should 
be  impaired. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

RUSSIAN      FINLAND  —  STOCKHOLM  —  THE      LARGEST 
KNOWN   METEORITE — THE   DJURGARDEN. 

IT  takes  some  time  to  get  the  confused  impres- 
sions of  brilliant  Moscow  out  of  one's  head ;  and, 
until  this  is  done,  one  is  in  no  fit  condition  to  judge 
of  other  cities.  The  gold,  green,  blue,  yellow,  and 
red  of  Moscow  left  images  in  my  brain  which 
shifted  about  for  days  as  with  turns  of  a  kaleido- 
scope. Entering  the  capital  of  Sweden  by  water 
on  a  bright  August  morning,  I  saw  it  at  its  best. 
Stockholm  is  a  handsome  city  in  its  own  right, 
and  that  guide-book  writer  who  first  called  it  the 
"  Venice  of  the  North "  owes  an  apology  to  the 
Swedes  for  instituting  an  unfortunate  comparison. 
There  is  plenty  of  water  in  and  about  Stockholm, 
but  no  intricate  network  of  canals,  no  rich  tint, 
no  mellow  antiquity.  Comparing  Stockholm  with 
Boston,  one  would  not  be  so  far  out  of  the  way. 
There  are  resemblances  in  the  hilly  grounds  on 
which  the  two  cities  stand,  in  the  central  dome 


THE  BOSTON  OF  SWEDEN. 


343 


and  the  tall  spires,  in  the  crooked  and  converging 
streets,  the  stone  buildings,  the  trimness  and  clean- 
liness of  everything,  the  all-pervading  air  of  pros- 
perity. The  American  who  happens  to  know  Bos- 
ton feels  at  home  here  at  once.  Even  when  he  has 
just  arrived  from  Moscow,  and  misses  colors  in  the 
roofs  of  Stockholm,  he  is  soon  somewhat  consoled 
by  the  many-colored  native  dresses  which  he  meets 
at  every  turn.  These  are  worn  by  the  women  of 
Dalecarlia.  In  coming  to  this  city  to  live,  they 
keep  on  wearing  the  showy  costumes  of  their  na- 
tive province.  Their  head-dress  is  either  a  sort 
of  liberty-cap  in  blue  or  an  exaggerated  smoking- 
cap  in  red,  attached  somehow  just  above  the  nape 
of  the  neck,  and  always  on  the  point  of  falling  off. 
The  rest  of  the  dress  is  a  mysterious  composition 
of  bandanna  handkerchiefs  and  bunting  of  divers 
hues.  Chains,  spangles,  beads,  and  embroidery 
cover  all.  There  is  nothing  like  this  in  the  Rus- 
sia I  have  seen.  It  is  the  prettiest  sight  in  all 
Stockholm.  But  to  go  back  a  space,  and  tell  how 
we  got  here. 

We  left  St.  Petersburg  in  a  clean  and  stanch 
little  boat  at  6  p.  M.  Before  stepping  on  board,  I 
drew  my  passport  from  its  envelope  and  held  it 
ready  for  the  final  ordeal ;  for,  in  theory,  every 
stranger  is  scrutinized  as  sharply  on  leaving  as  on 
entering  the  empire.  I  was  wondering  where,  on 


344  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

the  broad  surface  of  the  dear  old  American  eagle, 
room  would  be  found  for  still  another  and  posi- 
tively the  last  inscription,  seal,  or  stamp.  But 
again,  much  to  my  disappointment,  nobody  evinced 
the  slightest  curiosity  to  examine  the  document, 
either  at  the  gangway  of  the  boat  or  during  the 
voyage  of  some  hundreds  of  miles  which  we  after- 
ward made  before  quitting  the  jurisdiction  of  Rus- 
sia. Perhaps,  if  I  had  been  a  Nihilist,  my  depart- 
ure from  the  country  would  not  have  passed 
unnoticed.  But  my  personal  experience  on  this 
and  previous  occasions,  when  a  police  supervision 
might  have  been  expected  to  make  itself  apparent, 
convinces  me  that  it  is  a  formality  much  neglected, 
except  when  an  attempted  assassination  of  the 
Tsar  excites  the  authorities  to  spasms  of  real  vigi- 
lance. 

The  passengers — about  thirty  in  number — as- 
sembled on  the  upper  deck  to  take  last  views  of 
St.  Isaac's  dome,  the  spire  of  Saints  Peter  and 
Paul,  and  the  other  landmarks  of  gold  which  loom 
above  the  horizon  when  twenty  miles  away.  In 
half  an  hour  we  had  scraped  acquaintance  and 
crystallized  into  sets,  which  continued  unbroken 
all  the  voyage.  Among  those  aboard  were  a  Si- 
berian family,  a  Chilian,  a  Belgian,  a  German  who 
had  won  the  hand  of  a  London  lady,  married  her 
at  St.  Petersburg,  and  was  then  on  his  wedding- 


THE  CRONSTADT  FORTS.  345 

journey  ;  a  Nijni  -  Novgorod  merchant,  several 
Finns,  and  a  number  of  Norwegians  and  Swedes. 
Every  language  of  Northern  Europe  was  spoken 
on  that  deck.  If  one  person  could  not  talk  di- 
rectly to  another,  he  could  do  it  through  the 
medium  of  an  interpreter.  And  gestures  eke  out 
the  meaning  at  the  point  where  words  fail.  We 
were  a  merry  party,  without  asking  or  caring  to 
know  one  another's  names. 

Cronstadt — the  sea-defense  of  St.  Petersburg — 
was  reached  about  8  P.  M.,  and  everybody  in- 
spected the  fortifications  which  are  called  (by  the 
Russians)  impregnable.  To  me  they  seemed  old- 
fashioned  and  fragile.  Some  of  the  forts  are  of 
stone  or  brick,  with  cannon  in  three  or  four  tiers. 
If  a  5oo-pounder,  working  from  a  monitor  at  short 
range,  could  not  knock  them  about  the  ears  of  the 
defenders,  I  am  much  mistaken.  The  real  depend- 
ence of  Cronstadt  is  probably  the  torpedo,  and 
nobody  yet  knows  exactly  how  much  that  is 
worth.  Toward  eleven  o'clock,  when  the  twilight 
had  faded  out,  there  was  a  general  disposition  to 
retire  for  the  night.  The  cabins  of  the  Stockholm 
boats  are  small  but  comfortable.  Before  the  two 
sofas  are  transformed  into  beds,  they  are  downy 
enough.  But,  when  they  are  rigged  up  with 
sheets,  blankets,  and  pillows,  the  inmates  discover 
bones  and  buttons  inside  of  them.  They  are  very 


346  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

trying  on  tender  ribs.  The  cabin-doors  have  nei- 
ther locks  nor  bolts,  and  many  persons  do  not  even 
shut  them,  trusting  to  the  screen  of  a  curtain 
which  lets  the  air  freely  in  and  out.  As  the  num- 
bers of  the  rooms  do  not  show  when  the  doors  are 
ajar,  this  arrangement  gives  rise  to  amusing  mis- 
takes, of  which  we  hear  some  particulars  the  next 
morning. 

In  crossing  the  Gulf  of  Finland  the  water  was 
rough  for  a  few  hours,  and  the  pitching  motion  of 
the  vessel  disturbed  the  equilibrium  of  all  sensitive 
interiors.  In  the  morning  some  of  the  friskiest  of 
our  company  of  the  night  before  did  not  report 
for  coffee  at  7.30  o'clock.  When  they  did  appear 
at  nine  or  ten,  they  were  silent,  if  not  sad.  I  can 
only  say  that  they  missed  some  coffee  which  was 
wonderfully  good.  It  was  served  with  an  assort- 
ment of  bread,  sweet  biscuit,  and  cakes.  This 
light  refreshment  kept  one  alive  till  nine,  when 
those  who  could  pull  themselves  together  dived 
into  the  little  dining-saloon  and  had  their  regular 
breakfast.  The  most  important  part  of  this  meal 
— Swedish  fashion — is  the  "trimmings."  You  are 
expected  to  fill  yourself  at  a  sideboard  before  you 
sit  at  table.  I  counted  twenty  different  dishes  set 
out  as  appetizers.  Among  them  were  cold  boiled 
lobsters,  eels  in  jelly,  several  fish-salads  reeking 
with  oil,  head -cheese,  slices  of  sausage,  pickled 


A   "  SNOW  "-COVERED  CHURCH.  347 

tongue,  potted  meats  of  nature  unknown,  cabbage, 
beets,  onions  sliced  with  vinegar,  bread,  butter, 
and  cheese.  The  true  Swede,  when  in  "good 
form,"  attacks  all  these  viands  seriatim,  and  makes 
a  hole  in  them.  But,  before  he  does  anything,  he 
fills  a  large  wine-glass  from  the  colorless  contents 
of  one  or  more  decanters,  which  tower  above  all 
other  things  in  a  great  caster.  Those  hold  gin  or 
kummel  or  other  fiery  spirits.  After  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes  thus  spent  on  his  feet,  he  is  ready  to  ap- 
preciate the  beefsteak  and  potatoes  and  the  ham- 
omelette  and  other  substantials  which  are  tendered 
to  him  when  he  sits  down. 

We  reached  Helsingfors — the  present  capital  of 
Russian  Finland — about  noon.  For  several  hours 
before  coming  in  view  of  the  town,  we  had  passed 
between  numberless  rocky  islands.  These  kept 
off  the  winds  and  waves,  and  after  a  while  every- 
body was  on  deck  and  feeling  well.  The  prac- 
tical joker  (no  company  on  shipboard  is  complete 
without  one)  did  not  miss  his  chance  when  the 
famous  white-roofed  church  of  Helsingfors  hove 
in  sight.  As  belated  passengers  thrust  their  heads 
above  the  companion-way,  he  would  seize  them 
by  the  hand  and  drag  them  to  the  bow  to  show 
them  that  it  had  been  snowing  during  the  night ! 
To  those  not  in  the  secret  the  illusion  was  com- 

plete,  and    there  was  an   instinctive  movement   to 
16 


348  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

button  up  coats.  There  was  a  great  church  on 
a  hill,  and  every  roof,  gable,  and  cornice  where 
snow  could  lodge  was  apparently  covered  with 
it.  The  church  could  not  look  whiter  in  the 
dead  of  winter.  This  snow-effect  is  the  work  of 
design.  It  is  paint — a  study  from  nature ;  and,  if 
Helsingfors  were  distinguished  for  nothing  else, 
this  unique  church  would  make  the  place  worthy 
of  a  visit.  But  all  of  us  who  went  ashore  to  spend 
the  day — as  the  boat  would  not  start  again  before 
one  o'clock  the  next  morning — found  much  more 
there.  The  rides  and  walks  were  pleasant;  the 
parks  large  and  full  of  flowers,  with  fountains 
playing,  and  we  could  dine  and  sup  in  the  open 
air,  with  music  by  the  best  band  of  the  garrison, 
which  is  always  kept  strong  at  Helsingfors.  Al- 
though the  people  of  Finland  are  submissive  to 
Russia  in  many  respects,  they  are  quite  independ- 
ent in  others.  Russia  humors  them  to  the  ex- 
tent of  permitting  home-rule  in  all  matters  local, 
and  even  allows  them  to  coin  their  own  money. 
This  concession  suits  the  Finns  more  than  the 
traveling  public.  You  are  obliged  to  change 
your  rubles  and  kopecks  into  marks  and  pennies 
— all  reckonings  being  made  in  the  latter  money. 
I  should  say  that  Finland  has  the  best  of  the 
bargain.  Russia  protects  her  and  makes  busi- 
ness for  her,  and  in  return  exercises  a  sover- 


THE  FARTHEST  NORTHING.  349 

eignty  which  strikes  the  stranger  as  merely  nom- 
inal. 

By  one  o'clock,  A.  M.,  the  last  of  the  wanderers 
had  come  aboard,  tired  out  with  his  or  her  pleas- 
urings  on  land.  But  all  were  ready  for  another 
frolic  of  four  hours  when  we  arrived  at  Abo — 
the  old  capital  of  Finland,  and  still  strongly  at- 
tached to  the  Sweden  of  which  that  country  was 
once  an  appanage.  But  here,  as  elsewhere,  among 
the  Finns,  the  Russian  yoke  is  hardly  felt.  There 
is  not  much  to  see  or  do  in  Abo,  except  to  visit 
an  old  castle  and  church,  and  dine  at  a  pretty 
little  restaurant  within  hearing  of  the  steamer's 
whistle.  This  was  all  very  unexciting  when  com- 
pared to  our  revelries  at  Helsingfors.  No  one 
was  sorry  when  the  screw  again  buzzed,  and  we 
were  heading  in  a  southwest  direction  for  Stock- 
holm. Abo  is  the  farthest  northing  we  have  yet 
made.  According  to  my  tattered  map,  it  is  about 
on  the  latitude  of  the  Shetland  Islands.  It  must 
be  bitterly  cold  in  winter,  but  on  the  day  of  our 
visit  the  weather  there  was  just  on  the  verge  of 
warmth.  Except  for  a  light  wind,  it  would  have 
been  uncomfortable  in  thick  clothing. 

The  third  stage  of  the  trip — from  Finland  to 
Stockholm — is  uneventful.  We  sleep  through  the 
larger  part  of  it.  The  morning  finds  our  craft 
threading  a  multitude  of  islands.  Many  are  richly 


350  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

cultivated.  As  we  approach  Stockholm  the  pilot 
steers  carefully.  Navigation  is  difficult  for  natu- 
ral reasons,  aside  from  the  swarm  of  steamboats, 
ships,  and  yachts.  The  Swedish  flag,  mainly  a 
yellow  cross  on  a  blue  ground,  is  voted  a  beauty 
by  all  on  deck.  Our  hastily  formed  impressions 
of  everything  are  favorable.  We  think  well  of 
the  custom-house  men,  who,  while  not  neglect- 
ing their  duty,  give  us  as  little  trouble  as  possi- 
ble, and  do  not  look  significantly  at  the  palms  of 
their  hands.  So,  after  a  journey  which  has  used 
up  the  best  part  of  three  days,  we  begin  to  see 
the  sights  of  which  I  spoke  in  the  opening  para- 
graph of  this  chapter. 

The  greatest  curiosity  in  Stockholm  is  Profes- 
sor Nordenskiold's  meteorite.  He  found  it  in 
Greenland  many  years  ago,  shipped  it  to  this 
city,  and  presented  it  to  the  principal  museum, 
where  it  occupies  the  post  of  honor.  It  is  the 
largest  messenger  from  the  skies  of  which  I  have 
any  knowledge.  Some  of  the  guide-books  make 
a  woful  blunder  in  mentioning  the  wreight  of  the 
mass.  They  put  it  at  two  hundred  and  fifty  tons. 
This  is  the  truth  multiplied  by  (say)  ten  or  more. 
But  an  aerolite  of  twenty-five  tons  is  still  a  prod- 
igy. It  would  cut  up  into  a  hundred  of  such 
pieces  as  are  now  the  pride  of  separate  collec- 
tions in  the  great  cities  of  the  world.  Its  bulk 


THE  LARGEST  KNOWN  METEORITE.      351 

is  about  that  of  a  New  York  hackney-coach, 
minus  wheels  and  box-seat,  and  it  would  resem- 
ble that  ugly  object  in  shape  if  it  were  not  flat- 
tened and  narrowed  on  one  side.  It  is  iron  of 
the  specific  kind  called  meteoric,  with  a  definite 
proportion  of  nickel  in  its  composition.  The  in- 
tense heat  to  which  it  was  subjected  in  passing 
from  the  celestial  regions  through  our  atmosphere 
scorched  it  terribly.  It  is  blistered  all  over.  This 
is  a  kind  of  heaven's  artillery  before  which  the 
biggest  red-hot  shot  of  human  invention  sinks  into 
insignificance. 

There  are  many  treasures  of  art  and  science  in 
Stockholm  which  even  the  most  hurried  of  trav- 
elers should  not  fail  to  see.  There  are  churches 
which,  though  bare  and  cold  when  contrasted  with 
those  of  Italy  or  of  Russia,  are  interesting  by  vir- 
tue of  their  tombs,  their  pictures,  statues,  wood- 
carvings,  and  historical  associations.  On  every 
side  the  inquisitive  mind  may  gather  knowledge. 
But  I  think  most  tourists  will  agree  with  me  that 
for  pure  entertainment  nothing  yields  better  re- 
turn than  a  dinner  in  the  Djurgarden.  At  one 
of  the  great  restaurants  in  that  beautiful  park  you 
may  dine  perfectly  in  a  shaded  corridor  and  watch 
the  ever-fluctuating  crowd  of  well-dressed,  light- 
hearted  people,  and  hear  the  finest  selections  from 
the  musical  masterpieces  of  all  nations.  These 


352  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

are  rendered  by  a  military  band  which  might  be 
safely  sent  to  America  to  compete  with  the  best 
of  ours.  When  the  wind  and  muscle  of  the  per- 
formers give  out,  the  music  does  not  cease.  As 
the  last  strain  of  one  band  dies  on  the  air,  a 
second  band,  just  as  good,  continues  the  pro- 
gramme, so  that  there  is  no  break  in  the  feast 
of  sounds.  The  two  sets  of  musicians  "spell" 
each  other,  till  all  the  hearers  have  had  enough. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

BY  RAIL  TO  CHRISTIANIA — FARE  ON  THE  ROAD — 
NORWAY'S  CAPITAL — THE  VIKING -SHIP — AN  IN- 
LAND TOUR. 

"  TWENTY  minutes  for  dinner ! "  supper,  or 
breakfast,  as  the  case  may  be.  The  conductor  on 
the  Swedish  or  Norwegian  railways  announces  this 
important  fact  to  English-speaking  travelers  in  the 
sign-language.  He  spreads  out  all  his  fingers  and 
thumbs  twice.  It  speaks  volumes  to  the  hungry 
man.  He  jumps  from  the  train  to  the  platform  of 
the  pretty  little  station.  He  enters  a  room  where 
he  finds  the  feast  all  spread,  but  no  waiters.  Be- 
hind a  desk  in  a  corner  sits  a  woman  calmly  knit- 
ting. Her  business  is  only  to  take  the  money. 
The  guest's  business  is  to  help  himself.  It  is  for- 
tunate for  him  if  he  has  been  through  the  same 
ordeal  before.  For  that  mighty  soup-tureen,  with 
a  ladle  in  it,  does  not  contain  soup.  It  is  full  of 
delicious  whipped  cream,  destined  for  the  straw- 
berries or  raspberries  which  form  a  mound  by  its 


354  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

side.  Another  tureen,  exactly  matching  it,  is  the 
one  into  which  he  should  first  dip.  He  should  go 
down  deep  and  stir  up  the  rich  sediment.  With 
a  pint  of  this  soup  at  his  disposal  it  matters  less 
what  he  eats  afterward.  He  can  have  fish,  two 
kinds  of  meat,  various  side-dishes,  pastry,  cakes, 
bread,  cheese  and  butter,  tea,  coffee,  and  bottled 
ale,  besides  berries  and  cream  (the  latter  in  soup- 
plates  always)  all  at  discretion.  It  rests  with  him- 
self whether  he  will  clear  the  board.  When  he  has 
satisfied  his  appetite,  or  eaten  out  his  twenty  min- 
utes, he  hands  the  industrious  woman  at  the  desk 
one  krone  and  a  half — about  forty-two  cents  of 
American  money.  She  barely  looks  up  from  her 
work,  sweeps  the  coins  into  the  till,  and  resumes 
the  clicking  of  her  needles  with  an  expression  of 
impatience.  At  first  it  seems  as  if  this  "  self-help  " 
system  were  extremely  liberal  on  the  part  of  the 
caterer.  But  after  trying  it  a  number  of  times  I 
find  that  about  half  of  my  twenty  minutes  is  spent 
in  choosing  dishes,  changing  my  plates,  knives, 
forks,  and  spoons,  and  these  are  never  handy.  It 
also  occurs  to  me  that  I  am  saving  the  establish- 
ment the  expense  of  a  waiter ;  and,  on  the  whole, 
I  would  prefer  to  pay  a  little  more,  and  be  helped 
by  somebody  else.  These  meals,  occurring  at  in- 
tervals of  a  few  hours,  pleasantly  break  the  monot- 
ony of  the  long  rail-ride  from  Stockholm  to  the 


CHRISTIAN/A.  355 

Norwegian  capital.  The  scenery  is  a  succession  of 
ponds — full  of  lilies — birch-forests  and  hay-fields. 
After  the  first  hundred  miles  of  it  one  cuddles  into 
the  corner  of  his  seat  and  waits  for  the  conductor 
to  make  the  invariable  signs  at  him  to  rise  and  eat. 
Approaching  Christiania  and  looking  from  the 
car-window,  I  think  I  see  the  British  flag  every- 
where. It  is  the  red  and  blue  of  Norway — resem- 
bling at  a  distance  the  colors  of  England.  Nor- 
way, though  under  the  same  popular  king  as  Swe- 
den, has  her  own  flag.  Are  those  London  police- 
men at  the  station  ?  They  wear  cloth  helmets, 
have  their  numbers  in  metal  on  their  standing  coat- 
collars,  carry  sheathed  clubs,  and  only  dispel  the 
illusion  when  they  give  mild  orders  in  an  unknown 
tongue.  They  motion  us  to  go  into  a  room  where 
custom-house  officers  are  in  waiting.  For  reasons 
good  unto  themselves,  but  incomprehensible  to 
the  traveler  coming  from  Stockholm,  the  Nor- 
wegian authorities  put  the  baggage  through  a 
second  inspection.  For  all  I  know,  the  good  King 
Oscar  himself  may  be  obliged  to  stand  this  sort  of 
thing  every  time  he  rides  from  one  of  his  capitals 
to  the  other.  Though  the  ceremony  seemed  absurd 
and  needless,  I  determined  to  spare  the  officials  all 
possible  trouble.  I  unbuckled  the  straps,  unlocked 
the  trunks,  opened  them,  took  out  the  top  trays, 
folded  my  arms,  and  awaited  developments — strong 


356  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

in  innocence.  Great  was  my  astonishment  when 
the  custom-house  man  looked  at  me,  but  not  at  the 
trunks,  and  asked  simply,  "  Clothes  ? "  I  nodded, 
whereupon  he  stooped  and  leisurely  replaced  the 
trays,  locked  and  buckled  up  the  trunks,  and 
chalked  them  without  another  word.  Before  one 
could  even  thank  him,  he  had  vanished. 

As  we  rode  through  the  streets  to  the  hotel,  the 
likeness  of  Christiania  to  London  was  repeated  in 
the  yellowish  fronts  of  the  two-story  houses  and  the 
extreme  cleanliness  of  the  streets.  What,  there- 
fore, could  be  a  better  name  for  the  principal  hotel 
than  "  Victoria  "  ?  It  looks  just  like  one  of  those 
great,  rambling  inns  which  are  the  delight  of 
Americans  in  the  midland  counties.  It  is  a  laby- 
rinth of  halls,  little  passages,  and  stairs.  On  every 
landing-place  is  a  black  or  white  bear  or  other 
wild  beast  artistically  mounted.  To  come  upon  one 
of  these  at  dusk  for  the  first  time  is  startling.  Elk- 
horns,  walrus-tusks,  and  every  imaginable  trophy  of 
the  chase,  are  displayed  in  nooks  and  corners.  We 
see  at  once  that  this  free  museum  is  intended  to 
please  our  English  friends  who  come  to  Norway  in 
the  season  to  hunt  and  take  in  Christiania  on  the 
way.  We  hope  they  find  that  all  the  game  has  not 
already  been  shot  and  stuffed  for  the  hotel. 

At  the  royal  palaces,  both  here  and  at  Stock- 
holm, visitors  have  a  free  run  of  the  family  rooms. 


ROYALTY  AT  HOME.  357 

Among  themselves,  kings,  queens,  and  princes  are 
just  like  other  people.  No  well-to-do  household 
among  Oscar's  subjects  contains  a  larger  collection 
of  personal  photographs  and  little  souvenirs  of 
relatives  and  friends  than  may  be  seen  at  any  one 
of  His  Majesty's  homes.  Only  the  cabinet-portraits, 
cheaply  framed  and  hung  on  the  walls  or  stuck 
into  card-racks,  are  those  of  the  Emperor  William, 
or  the  Prince  of  Wales,  or  the  King  of  Denmark, 
or  some  other  sovereign  or  prince  with  whom 
Sweden  and  Norway  are  on  the  best  of  terms. 
Fans,  pipes,  snuff-boxes,  and  all  sorts  of  bric-&-brac, 
which  have  been  presented  at  Christmas  or  other 
times,  are  displayed  on  ttagtres  or  under  glass.  I 
dare  say  that  the  pin-cushions,  antimacassars,  and 
tidies  one  sees  in  the  more  private  rooms,  are  the 
gifts  and  the  work  of  princesses,  at  the  least.  It 
would  be  hard  if  royalty  could  not  act  like  the 
commonalty  once  in  a  while  and  enjoy  things 
which  are  simple  and  cheap. 

The  King  has  artistic  tastes  with  a  strong  patri- 
otic bias.  He  prefers  Norwegian  pictures  for  his 
Christiania  palace.  No  others  are  to  be  seen  there. 
Some  of  them  are  crude,  but  all  show  originality, 
and  there  are  a  few  pieces  which,  by  their  truth- 
fulness and  vigor,  would  make  a  sensation  in  any 
salon.  In  front  of  one  of  these  people  spontaneous- 
ly collect  and  stand  in  horror  and  wonder.  It  is  an 


358  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

old-fashioned  sea-fight,  not  one  of  the  modern  scien- 
tific kind,  where  the  combatants  are  at  long  range 
and  almost  invisible  to  one  another.  The  crafts 
engaged  are  a  Viking-ship  and  a  vessel  of  some 
power  with  which  the  ancient  Norsemen  were  at 
war.  The  former  stands  high  out  of  water  at  bow 
and  stern.  The  latter  is  more  clumsily  built — 
scow-shaped.  The  two  are  in  dead-lock,  and  the 
crew  of  one  is  boarding  the  other.  Every  man  on 
both  sides  is  wielding  an  axe,  pike,  or  short  sword, 
and  carries  a  knife  in  his  teeth.  There  is  a  desper- 
ate resistance,  but  the  Viking  fellows  are  surely 
overmastering  their  enemies.  The  deck  of  the 
doomed  ship  is  red  with  blood,  and  so  is  the  water 
all  about,  as  the  victims  of  the  terrible  combat  sink 
to  their  death.  One  lingers  spell-bound  before  this 
picture  till  a  cough  from  the  guide  reminds  him 
to  move  on. 

Every  one.  should  see  this  remarkable  painting 
before  or  after  paying  a  visit  to  the  special  won- 
der of  Ghristiania.  It  is  the  fortune  of  that  city 
to  own  something  which  is  unique  in  archaeology. 
This  is  a  practically  perfect  specimen  of  the  Viking- 
ships  with  which  the  fierce  sea-robbers  of  the  North 
made  their  descents  on  the  English  and  French 
coasts  eight  hundred  or  a  thousand  years  ago.  It 
was  recently  dug  out  of  a  burial-mound  of  blue  clay, 
where  it  formed  the  sepulchre  of  the  chief  who 


THE    BIKING-SHIP.  359 

owned  and  commanded  it.  The  surrounding  earth 
had  preserving  qualities  ;  and  so  the  wood-work  of 
the  ship,  the  iron  bolts,  part  of  the  iron  anchor, 
some  of  the  cordage,  bits  of  the  sail,  spears, 
swords,  and  shields  were  recovered  in  good  order. 
The  remains  of  the  interred  hero  had  evidently 
been  removed  for  some  purpose  in  the  distant  past, 
as  there  were  traces  of  a  hole  through  the  mound 
and  then  through  the  wooden  tent-like  inclosure 
where  the  body  had  been  placed.  The  hull  is 
beautifully  modeled — about  seventy-two  feet  long, 
fifteen  and  a  half  feet  broad,  and  three  and  a  half 
feet  deep  inside.  There  are  holes  for  thirty-two 
oars,  many  of  which  were  found  within  the  hull. 
They  are  of  various  lengths  from  eighteen  feet 
downward.  The  helm  is  attached  by  a  rope  to  the 
right  side  of  the  vessel  near  the  stern-post  Pieces 
of  the  single  mast — which  carried  a  square  sail — 
are  shown,  but  its  height  is  unknown.  The  gen- 
eral shape  of  the  ship  reminds  one  of  a  Venetian 
gondola,  than  which  nothing  could  be  better  de- 
signed for  speed  and  offensive  qualities.  The  crew, 
from  the  elevated  position,  fore  and  aft,  could  easily 
jump  down  to  the  vessels  they  were  assailing; 
and  they  could,  by  the  same  arrangement,  more 
surely  repel  boarders.  It  takes  but  little  imagina- 
tion to  people  this  black,  rakish  hull  with  the  origi- 
nal pirates  standing  erect  and  prepared  to  leap  on 


360  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

their  prey,  and  in  their  midst  some  fair-bearded 
giant  whom  they  adored  and  would  follow  to  the 
death.  Such  a  ship  as  this  may  have  witnessed 
such  scenes  of  bloodshed  as  are  depicted  on  that 
canvas  in  the  King's  palace. 

Fiords,  lakes,  rivers,  waterfalls,  snow-mountains, 
soft,  rounded  hills  alternating  with  low  but  savage 
precipices,  cultivated  and  peaceful  valleys — these 
are  characteristics  of  the  scenery  in  Eastern  Nor- 
way. We  desired  to  take  an  easy  trip  into  the 
interior,  admitting  us  to  the  heart  of  the  country, 
with  the  minimum  sacrifice  of  comfort.  The  prob- 
lem was  how  to  get  a  good  miniature  impression 
of  the  natural  features  of  this  region  in  four  days  ? 
Fortunately,  there  was  (and  still  is,  I  hope)  a  man 
in  Christiania  able  to  solve  this  problem  to  the  en- 
tire satisfaction  of  the  anxious  inquirer.  His  name 
is  Bennett  He  cashes  your  drafts,  he  outlines 
your  excursions,  he  furnishes  you  with  carriages, 
horses,  and  drivers,  he  sells  you  books,  carved 
wood,  old  Norwegian  silver,  and  other  curios ;  he 
is  universal  purveyor  and  everybody's  friend.  I 
went  to  Bennett  and  laid  my  wishes  before  him. 
Would  he  be  good  enough  to  plan  a  little  outing, 
say  of  four  days,  warranted  to  afford  some  slight 
idea  of  picturesque  Norway? 

The  worthy  man  listened  to  the  request  with 


AN  EXCURSION  PLANNED.  361 

as  much  apparent  interest  as  if  I  had  been  the  first 
person  who  had  ever  asked  him  that  familiar  ques- 
tion. Squaring  off  at  a  sheet  of  paper,  he  rapidly 
drew  the  skeleton  of  a  trip  which  was  at  once  adopt- 
ed on  his  recommendation.  Luckily,  he  had  a  car- 
riage on  hand,  which  was  just  the  thing  for  the 
bad  weather  then  threatening.  It  was  a  stout  four- 
wheeler,  with  a  high  seat  for  the  driver  and  a  hood 
which  came  forward  like  that  of  the  old-fashioned 
chaise,  and  a  thick  leather  apron  for  the  further 
protection  of  the  inmates.  There  was  a  spare  seat 
for  the  hand-bags  and  shawls,  and  a  roomy  box  in 
the  rear  for  extra  harness  and  a  small  trunk  if  re- 
quired. But  we  proposed  to  dispense  with  any 
luggage  larger  than  a  valise.  Everything  that 
Bennett  suggested  I  at  once  agreed  to. 

Presently  he  said,  "  Of  course,  you  want  a 
guide,  to  speak  the  language,  and  save  you  trou- 
ble?" 

"  Never,  Bennett,  never ! "  said  I,  calmly  but 
firmly.  There  is  something  more  unpleasant  than 
the  worst  of  rains  in  the  idea  of  having  a  man 
constantly  perched  before  one,  cutting  off  what 
little  view  he  might  have,  and  showing  him  things 
he  does  not  want  to  see.  I  remembered  bitterly 
some  of  my  experiences  in  Switzerland  and  Rus- 
sia, and  determined  to  abandon  the  trip  rather  than 
take  along  such  an  incumbrance. 


362  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

Bennett  smiled  sweetly,  and  shrugged  his  broad 
shoulders.  "  As  you  please,"  said  he.  "  Perhaps 
you  can  manage  to  get  along  with  a  copious  phrase- 
book,  giving  the  Norwegian  and  English  in  paral- 
lel columns,  you  know.  I  have  a  fine  pocket-edi- 
tion cheap." 

" Never,  Bennett,  never !"  I  repeated.  "I  just 
happened  to  look  into  one  of  those  phrase-books 
this  morning.  The  reader  is  told  to  consult  the 
rules  for  pronunciation  of  Norwegian  words,  and 
be  sure  to  apply  them  carefully ;  otherwise  he 
would  not  be  understood  by  the  natives.  I  tried 
it  on  the  word  skyds  (English,  'posting').  May 
I  drop  dead  if  it  wasn't  pronounced  shoss !  No, 
Bennett,  no !  I  will  never  have  anything  to  do 
with  a  language  like  that !  " 

He  laughed  pleasantly  again,  like  one  who  is 
accustomed  to  dealing  with  highly  eccentric  per- 
sons. "  And  pray,  sir,  what  will  you  do  ?  " 

"  Bennett,"  said  I,  "  have  you,  or  could  you  get 
for  me,  two  or  perhaps  three  pounds  of  the  copper 
coins  ore — pronounced  onray,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  barrel  of  'em  at  your  disposal." 

"  But  I  want  only  enough  to  fill  up  my  outside 
pockets.  And  could  you  supply  me  with  twenty 
or  thirty  notes  of  one  krone  each  ? " 

"  I  understand,"  said  he,  "  and  I  am  sure  it  will 
work.  There  is  no  language  like  ready  money, 


LANGUAGE  OF  READY  MONEY.  363 

after  all.     But  it  is  the  last  that  most  people  think 
of  trying." 

It  took  but  a  few  minutes  to  cash  a  draft  on  my 
bankers  in  London.  I  received  enough  copper  ore 
packed  in  small  rouleaux  to  fill  two  pockets,  and 
stuffed  my  wallet  with  single  paper  kroner.  Then 
I  knew  I  was  prepared  for  any  emergency  arising 
from  ignorance  of  the  Norwegian  tongue.  Be- 
sides these  smaller  resources,  there  was  a  due  pro- 
vision of  larger  currency  which  can  never  come 
amiss. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

A    BABY    KUDSK  —  TYRI-FIORD  —  HONEFOS  —  LAKE 
SPIRELLEN  —  DINNER  AT  A   SANITARIUM. 


NEXT  morning  (August  Qth)  we  made  an  early 
start,  with  Honefos  as  the  objective  point  for  the 
day,  the  hotel  there  having  been  highly  recom- 
mended to  us.  The  postboy  (kudsk)  who  was  to 
drive  to  the  first  station  on  the  route,  two  hours 
distant,  was  not  a  boy,  but  a  man.  And  that  was  a 
damper  upon  the  enthusiasm  with  which  we  should 
have  set  out  ;  for  all  the  authorities  on  Norwegian 
traveling  assure  one  that  the  drivers  are  invaria- 
bly real  boys  —  when  they  are  not  girls.  Much 
of  the  charm,  and  most  of  the  risk,  which  is  itself 
a  delightful  excitement  to  some  people,  of  car- 
riage-riding in  Norway,  is  always  said  to  consist 
in  the  fact  that  you  are  in  charge  of  a  joyous 
child,  whose  infantile  ways  divert  you,  when  there 
is  nothing  else  worth  looking  at.  As  we  had 
already  journeyed  over  a  part  of  the  road  in  a  lit- 
tle ride  we  had  taken  out  of  Christiania  some  days 


\ 
A  BABY  KUDSK.  365 

before,  we  would  have  been  glad  to  extract  some 
amusement  from  the  driver.  At  the  next  station 
there  would  be  a  change  on  the  box-seat,  and  we 
were  hoping  for  somebody  a  little  smaller  and  less 
obstructive  of  the  view,  than  postboy  number  one. 
But  we  were  not  prepared  for  what  happened. 
I  had  settled  for  my  mileage  up  to  that  point 
with  the  skyddsskaffer  (station-master),  paid  the 
overgrown  postboy  the  gratuity  in  ore  which  usage 
decrees  to  him,  the  tired  horses  had  been  taken 
from  the  pole  and  fresh  ones  put  on,  and  we  were 
impatient  to  be  off  again,  when  a  little  chap 
climbed  up  to  the  box-seat.  He  looked  six  or 
eight  years  old.  I  supposed  he  was  the  young- 
est brother  of  the  driver,  who  had  not  yet  ap- 
peared. His  toes,  by  stretching,  just  touched  the 
dash-board.  The  child  was  so  very  young  that  we 
thought  of  asking  him  to  take  part  of  a  spare  seat 
inside  if  he  wished  to  ride  to  the  next  station.  We 
waited  five  minutes  for  the  driver,  when,  what  was 
our  amazement,  to  see  the  reins  handed  up  to  the 
mite !  He  took  them  in  his  baby-hand  like  an  old 
coachman.  Then  he  prattled  something  in  Norwe- 
gian. In  reply  he  received  a  whip-stock  with  about 
three  inches  of  lash.  He  looked  at  it  scornfully,  and 
flourished  it  in  the  air  to  show  that  it  would  not 
"  crack."  The  poor  little  fellow  wanted  a  real 
whip,  with  a  thong  about  ten  feet  long,  which  he 


366  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

could  snap  as  he  passed  every  house,  like  his  father 
and  his  grandfather,  who  were  somewhere  on  the 
road  that  same  day.  But  the  station-master  had  no 
better  whip,  or  was  unwilling  to  trust  the  child  with 
one.  He  ordered  the  carriage  on.  I  saw  a  tear 
steal  down  the  cheek  of  Toddlekins,  and  heard  an 
infantile  sob,  but  he  suddenly  checked  himself  and 
made  a  scarcely  audible  noise  with  his  lips,  and 
the  horses,  hearing  that  signal  to  go,  flew  down  the 
road.  I  stood  erect  for  a  while,  ready  to  jump  to 
the  box-seat  and  seize  the  reins  ;  but  in  a  very  few 
moments  both  the  mite  and  the  horses  had  my  en- 
tire confidence. 

The  animals  knew  every  inch  of  the  road,  and 
were  perfectly  trained.  They  went  fast  or  slow  in 
the  right  places,  and  they  turned  aside  enough  for 
every  passing  cariole  or  stolkjarre  (cart  with  seats 
for  two).  Perhaps  the  horses  should  have  all  the 
credit  for  that  highly  satisfactory  drive.  But  we 
preferred  to  think  that  we  owed  our  safety  and 
pleasure  to  the  baby  kudsk.  At  the  foot  of  every 
hill  he  would  jump  to  the  ground — I  always  felt  like 
lifting  him  down — and,  while  the  ponies  were  strug- 
gling up,  he  would,  in  the  gravest  and  most  know- 
ing manner,  inspect  the  state  of  the  harness  and  the 
wheels,  and  be  sure  that  everything  was  right  and 
tight.  He  was  a  model  coachman,  seen  through 
the  wrong  end  of  a  telescope.  When  he  had  clam- 


A  FRESH- WATER  "FIORD."  367 

bered  up  to  his  seat  again  and  all  was  going  well, 
he  would  look  in  a  distressed  manner  at  that  mock- 
ery of  a  whip  ;  he  would  repeat  the  motion  of 
cracking  it,  and  when  the  miserable  apology  for  a 
lash  would  not  make  the  slightest  noise,  his  lip 
would  quiver  and  he  could  hardly  hold  in  his  tears. 
We  were  sorry  that  we  had  no  candy  to  give  him 
at  the  end  of  the  ride,  but  made  up  for  it  in  small 
coin.  If  he  had  been  a  shade  cleaner,  I  might  have 
kissed  him  for  his  mother,  at  parting. 

At  this  second  station,  Holmedal,  we  com- 
manded a  view  of  the  Hols-Fiord,  a  branch  of  the 
larger  Tyri-Fiord.  It  is  a  ribbon  of  fresh  water 
winding  between  crags  and  wooded  slopes  and 
would  pass  for  a  lake  in  any  other  country  but  Nor- 
way. It  has  no  direct  connection  with  the  salt- 
water, violating  my  preconceived  notion  of  a  fiord, 
which  I  had  always  supposed  to  be  a  true  arm  of 
the  sea,  thrust  far  up  into  the  land  like  the  fiord  of 
Christiania,  at  the  head  of  which  stands  the  beauti- 
ful city  of  that  name.  But  one  soon  comes  to  learn 
that  the  same  sheet  of  water  is  called  a  fiord  or  a 
lake  according  to  the  caprice  of  writers  about 
Norway,  who  are  at  swords'  points  on  all  subjects. 
Lake  George  (New  York),  or  the  Italian  Lake 
Como,  would  pass  for  a  fiord  in  Norway.  But, 
aside  from  questions  of  nomenclature,  there  is  no 
disputing  the  loveliness  of  Hols-Fiord  or  of  the  no- 


368  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

bier  Tyri.  We  looked  down  upon  a  mirror,  which 
perfectly  reflected  the  green  hills  and  the  beetling 
rocks  that  composed  its  frame.  There  was  not 
wind  enough  for  sailing,  and  the  surface  of  the 
fiord  was  unvexed  save  by  a  few  fishermen's  boats 
lazily  rowed  through  the  smooth  water.  The  orig- 
inal lotos-eaters,  stretched  along  the  ground  cov- 
ered with  dry-pine  needles  in  the  rear  of  the  house, 
would  have  been  loath  to  quit  the  idyllic  scene. 
Nothing  less  imperative  than  a  luncheon  would 
have  called  us  away  from  it.  We  would  have  been 
more  grateful  for  the  savory  stew  of  mutton  served 
at  that  meal,  had  we  known  that  we  were  soon  to 
be  put  on  short  rations  of  meat.  The  one  article  of 
food  that  never  fails  is  the  egg.  The  trout  are 
left  to  flash  their  speckled  sides  in  the  brook,  in- 
stead of  gracing  the  table.  And  by  the  road-side, 
millions  of  bushels  of  delicious  strawberries  rot 
unregarded !  All  the  women  and  girls  are  busy  in 
the  house,  and  all  the'  men  and  boys  are  guiding 
and  driving  the  mob  of  tourists.  Thus  the  hen — 
which  can  scratch  for  her  living,  and  needs  to  be 
watched  only  for  her  eggs  laid  in  the  neighboring 
barn — becomes  the  unfailing  reliance. 

At  the  Holmedal  station,  a  man  who  was  rest- 
ing there,  on  his  way  to  Christiania,  recognized 
the  carriage  as  his  own.  Bennett  had  hired  it  of 
him,  and  sublet  it  to  me.  The  owner  learned  from 


CONFIDING  NORWEGIANS.  369 

me  that  I  had  agreed  to  send  it  back  from  Odnaes 
to  Christiania,  by  rail  or  steamboat,  at  my  own 
expense ;  whereupon  occurred  to  him  the  brilliant 
idea  of  getting  me  to  sell  it  for  him  for  his  stand- 
ing price  of  four  hundred  kroner  (about  one  hun- 
dred and  twelve  dollars).  I  thought  he  was  joking, 
and  dismissed  his  proposition  with  a  laugh.  While 
we  were  lunching,  the  man  resumed  his  journey. 
On  re-entering  the  carriage,  I  found  upon  the  seat 
a  paper  written  in  Norwegian,  and  signed  by  a 
name  and  address.  It  proved  to  be  a  document 
authorizing  the  bearer  (myself)  to  sell  the  carriage 
at  Odnses  for  four  hundred  kroner.  Nothing  was 
said  about  paying  the  money  to  the  signer ;  that 
was  taken  for  granted.  I  was  interested  in  grati- 
fying his  wishes,  to  the  extent  of  fifteen  kroner — 
that  being  the  freight-charge  on  the  carriage  from 
Odnaes  back  to  Christiania.  I  tried  to  make  the 
sale,  but  without  success.  Such  instances  of  con- 
fidence in  perfect  strangers  are,  it  is  said,  not  rare 
in  Norway. 

A  boy  about  ten  years  old  here  took  the  reins. 
He  was  so  much  larger  and  maturer  than  the  pre- 
ceding youngster,  that  he  looked  a  man  in  contrast. 
He  had  a  whip  with  a  long  lash,  which  he  cracked 
continually,  till  I  was  impelled  to  check  his  exuber- 
ance of  spirits.  He  also  had  the  fault — which  it 


3/0  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

seems  impossible  to  correct  in  the  Norwegian 
kudsk,  old  or  young — of  urging  the  horses  down- 
hill at  a  headlong  gait.  They  all  seem  to  think 
that  this  must  give  the  greatest  possible  pleasure 
to  the  riders.  It  is,  indeed,  agreeably  exciting  at 
times,  when  the  road  is  free  of  stones  and  sunken 
places.  But  we  were  journeying  along  the  side 
of  the  Tyri-Fiord  at  a  good  height  above  it,  and 
did  not  want  our  attention  distracted  from  its 
calm,  sunny  bosom.  In  the  post-luncheon  mood, 
we  would  fain  have  rested  half  an  hour  each  at 
some  of  the  points.  But,  as  this  would  have  de- 
layed the  arrival  at  Honefos  till  an  unseasonable 
evening  hour,  we  took  in  the  scene  on  the  wing. 
At  one  elevation  we  seemed  to  survey  the  whole 
expanse  of  the  Tyri-Fiord.  It  was  apparently 
landlocked.  Not  till  one  examines  a  map  does  he 
discover  that  a  long  strip  of  water — Drammenselv 
— links  it  to  Drammens-Fiord,  which  in  turn  leads 
up  to  the  Christiania-Fiord.  And  this  is  the  only 
tenure  by  which  the  Tyri  holds  the  title  that  is  so 
misleading  to  travelers.  But,  whatever  its  classi- 
fication in  geography,  it  is  one  of  the  most  pictur- 
esque pieces  of  water  in  Europe. 

The  tourist's  principal  motive  in  visiting  Hone- 
fos is  to  see  the  waterfalls.  He  wants  those  falls 
"neat,"  as  one  may  say — that  is,  unmixed  with 
baser  things.  If  he  could  realize  in  advance  the 


HONEFOS. 


371 


number  of  saw-mills  for  which  these  falls  supply 
the  power,  he  would  probably  stay  away  from 
Honefos.  His  idea  of  a  fall  is  of  a  body  of  water 
which  has  nothing  to  do  but  tumble  gracefully 
over  rocks  with  a  tremendous  roar  and  a  follow- 
ing cloud  of  spray.  If  he  is  an  American,  and  has 
seen  Niagara,  he  is  sure  to  be  very  exacting  in 
his  requirement  for  waterfalls.  When  such  a  man 
first  beholds  the  cascades  of  Honefos,  his  feeling 
is  one  of  disappointment.  The  saw-mills  stand  so 
thick  as  to  cut  off  the  view  of  the  foaming,  white 
water  at  many  points.  The  bubbles  that  are  borne 
toward  him  by  the  raging  current  are  flecked  with 
the  fine  dust  of  wood.  With  the  roar  of  the  water 
is  mingled  the  sound  of  buzz-saws. 

But  one  soon  adjusts  himself  to  the  conditions 
of  the  scene.  The  falls  are  so  attractive  that,  when 
he  has  studied  them  a  little  while,  he  ceases  to  note 
the  planks,  the  boards,  the  shingles,  which  are  piled 
up  on  the  banks  of  the  Basgna  River,  and  the  dust 
that  whirls  past  him  on  all  the  surface  of  the 
water,  and  he  no  longer  hears  the  saws  as  the 
teeth  eat  their  way  through  the  hard  Norwegian 
pine-logs.  By  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  he 
can  shut  out  the  mills  which  occupy  the  middle 
distance,  and  imagine  himself  in  the  presence -of 
Nature  before  man  had  harnessed  her  up  for  his 

use.     And  when  he  inspects  the  branches  or  side- 
17 


372  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

issues  of  the  cataract,  he  finds  some  as  untamed 
and  free  as  any  mountain-brook.  In  these  he  sees 
the  natural  fall  of  the  waters  over  rocks  of  their 
own  choosing,  uncontrolled  by  dams  and  sluices. 
The  Bsegna  is  about  an  eighth  of  a  mile  wide  at 
the  place  where  it  takes  a  sheer  plunge  of  thirty 
feet,  and  then  races  away  in  rapids.  The  best 
view  may  be  had  in  safety  from  a  bridge  immedi- 
ately below  the  falls. 

The  village  of  Honefos  is  compact  and  business- 
like. But  there  is  a  Garden  of  Eden  at  the  north 
end  of  it.  This  is  situated  at  a  bend  of  the  river, 
where  one  can  see  the  falls  in  the  distance  and 
hear  their  deep  roar  free  from  the  under-tone  of 
the  saw-mills.  By  a  wise  choice,  Glatved's  Hotel 
has  been  placed  there,  and  the  tired  wayfarer 
knows  not  which  to  praise  the  more,  the  quiet 
comfort  of  the  well-kept  inn  or  the  restful  charm 
of  the  lovely  grounds  in  which  it  stands.  They 
are  laid  out  in  walks,  lined  with  flowers  and  fruit- 
and  foliage-trees.  In  shady  spots  stand  little  tables 
and  rustic  chairs  for  the  use  of  those  who  like  to 
eat  or  drink  al  fresco.  But  that  sort  of  thing, 
though  very  romantic,  is  quite  out  of  the  question 
at  nightfall,  with  the  mercury  down  to  55°  Fahr. 
So  we  took  our  first  meal  at  Glatved's  in  the 
pretty  dining-room,  and  a  very  good  supper  it 
was.  I  distinctly  remember  the  crisp  trout,  the 


GOOD  FARE  AT  GLATVED'S.  373 

broiled  chicken,  the  snowy  bread,  and  a  dish  of 
huckleberries  with  cream.  There  were  few  guests 
at  that  season  of  the  year,  English  for  the  most 
part,  friendly  and  affable  to  us  Americans.  Our 
sleeping-room  was  large  and  clean,  and  opened  on 
a  broad  balcony  facing  the  river.  There  in  the 
morning  was  served  a  capital  breakfast.  The  sun 
shone  brightly.  The  distant  falls  sparkled.  The 
roar  of  the  water  was  a  musical  bass.  Birds  flew 
among  the  trees  and  butterflies  hovered  over  the 
flowers.  If  all  things  were  steeped  in  rose-color,  who 
can  say  how  much  of  it  was  owing  to  the  strong, 
fragrant  coffee,  with  whipped  cream,  the  dainty 
lamb-chops,  the  fried  potato-shavings,  the  omelette  au 
confiture  with  its  purple  heart  of  raspberry-jam? 

We  had  hoped  to  be  favored  with  a  girl  in- 
stead of  a  boy  as  driver  to  the  next  station  on 
the  route  —  Heen.  After  our  experience  the 
day  before,  we  felt  that  anybody  who  could  sit 
on  the  box-seat  and  hold  the  reins  could  manage 
trained  ponies  in  use  on  Norwegian  roads.  A 
girl  could  safely  be  trusted  with  them.  But  to 
our  great  disappointment,  a  lout  of  a  boy 'climbed 
up  in  front,  and  off  we  started  for  Heen  —  with 
the  injunction  (from  the  young  woman  who  set- 
tled our  bill  and  saw  us  off)  ringing  in  our  ears — 
"Stop  at  the  Captain's!" 


374  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

The  road  to  Heen  was  sandy  and  hilly  most 
of  the  way.  There  were  more  dashing  falls  at 
Hofsfos.  And  we  found,  in  the  depths  of  a  pine- 
wood,  stunted  bushes  with  just  such  blueberries 
on  them  as  the  people  of  distant  New  Hamp- 
shire and  Vermont  were  doubtless  picking  that 
very  day.  It  is  one  of  the  pleasantest  incidents 
of  foreign  travel  to  come  across  wild  flowers  and 
fruits  identical  with  those  of  America. 

The  Captain's  at  Heen  is  the  only  name  given 
to  the  roomy  house  belonging  to  the  commander 
of  the  steamboat  that  plies  between  that  place 
and  Sorum  on  Lake  Spirellen.  We  reached  it 
about  i  P.  M.,  at  the  moment  dinner  was  going  on 
the  Captain's  hospitable  table.  As  our  carriage 
was  destined  to  accompany  us  up  the  lake,  that 
was  the  end  of  the  land-ride  for  the  present, 
and  we  were  glad  of  it.  The  Captain  greeted 
us  as  we  alighted.  He  is  a  square-shouldered, 
resolute  man,  who  speaks  English  well.  Instead 
of  ordering  some  one  else  to  do  the  work,  he  put 
the  carriage  with  his  own  hands  on  board  the 
steamboat,  which  was  then  lying  at  her  wharf 
close  by  and  ready  to  leave.  The  Captain's  din- 
ner was  a  good  one,  as  ten  or  twelve  persons 
who  sat  about  the  board  all  agreed.  Soup,  fresh 
eggs,  two  kinds  of  meat,  pudding,  strawberries, 
pheese,  coffee,  and  wine  and  beer  for  those  who 


TREMENDOUS  CURRENTS.  375 

ordered    them,   satisfied    every    rational    expecta- 
tion. 

We  all  boarded  the  little  craft  in  a  contented 
frame  of  mind.  The  day  was  cloudy,  but  not 
damp  or  cold.  Our  course,  for  several  English 
miles,  was  up  the  Bsegna  River,  in  the  teeth  of  a 
tremendous  current  At  times  it  ran  like  a  mill- 
race.  The  boat  could  make  headway  in  some 
places  only  by  closely  hugging  the  shore.  Occa- 
sionally we  would  see  logs,  that  had  slipped  their 
moorings  in  the  lake  beyond,  coming  down  the 
middle  of  the  stream  with  frightful  velocity  and 
threatening  to  punch  holes  in  the  bow.  The 
steersman  smoked  his  pipe  as  calmly  as  if  sitting 
by  his  own  hearth.  If  any  log  ever  touched  the 
hull,  it  glanced  off  harmless.  There  were  mo- 
ments when  the  boat  refused  to  mind  the  helm. 
Then  the  Captain,  who  stood  hard  by — pipe  in 
mouth  also — would  put  his  great  hairy  hands  on 
the  spokes,  and  she  minded  quickly  then.  Pres- 
ently we  entered  upon  that  expansion  of  the 
river  known  as  Lake  Spirellen.  It  is  the  Tyri- 
Fiord  over  again — in  its  alternately  tame  and  wild 
environments — but  the  current  still  ridges  itself 
in  the  center  of  the  lake,  and  only  near  its  shores 
can  the  boat  make  six  or  eight  knots  an  hour. 
No  landings  are  attempted,  but  passengers  and 
freight  are  taken  off  or  put  on  by  flat-bottomed 


3/6  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

barges,  which  require  powerful  rowers  to  hold 
them  against  the  stream.  We  killed  time  watch- 
ing these  struggling  craft,  or  gazing  through  the 
crystal  water  down  to  the  grassy  bottom,  which 
our  keel  almost  scraped. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  we  landed  at  Sorum 
and  the  boat  tied  up  for  the  night.  We  all  hur- 
ried ashore,  to  try  our  luck  at  a  new  hotel  whose 
unpainted  sides  showed  a  beautiful  wood-color 
against  the  dark  background  of  hills.  There  was 
in  its  newness  a  promise  of  clean  beds,  an.d  whole- 
some, if  homely,  fare.  The  beds  proved  to  be 
good,  and  the  fare  was  undoubtedly  satisfactory  to 
persons,  if  any,  who  happen  to  prefer  hard-boiled 
eggs  to  meat.  For  it  was  the  five-minute  egg 
that  formed  the  staple  of  supper  and  again  of 
breakfast.  The  eggs  were  always  brought  on  in 
heaping  platefuls  wrapped  up  in  hot  napkins  and 
deceiving  the  eye  with  the  promise  of  something 
better  than  themselves,  till  the  cloth  was  removed 
by  a  waitress,  disclosing  the  standard  food  of  the 
smaller  inns  of  Eastern  Norway.  But  the  bread, 
butter,  and  cheese  were  very  good,  and  there  was 
a  choice  of  tea,  coffee,  and  chocolate.  What  the 
Sorum  hotel  lacked,  even  more  than  meat,  was 
modern  improvements.  It  is  the  want  of  these 
that  makes  the  traveler,  who  has  outlived  his  pas- 
sion for  roughing  it,  think  at  least  twice  before 


AN  EARLY  START.  377 

he  makes  up  his  mind  to  enter  upon  an  extended 
tour  of  the  interior  of  the  country.  The  most 
primitive  New  England  farm-house  of  twenty-five 
years  ago  was  better  off  in  these  respects  than 
any  Norwegian  hotel  we  have  seen  outside  of 
Christiania. 

The  third  day  of  the  excursion  was  the  one  to 
which  we  had  looked  forward  with  the  greatest 
pleasure ;  for  the  route  from  Sorum  to  Odnass 
was  said  to  traverse  some  of  the  finest  scenery  in 
Eastern  Norway.  We  were  promised  a  succession 
of  high  mountains,  some  snow-clad,  waterfalls 
leaping  down  precipices,  and  valleys  unsurpassed 
in  loveliness  stretching  between  the  frowning 
heights.  Throw  in  a  lavish  supply  of  lakes  and 
rivers,  with  Rands-Fiord  as  the  goal,  and  you  have 
the  seductive  features  of  the  journey  as  we  had 
fondly  dreamed  of  it. 

But  the  day  opened  with  lowering  weather. 
The  air  was  full  of  moisture.  It  seemed  like  a 
sponge  just  waiting  to  be  squeezed  a  little  to  give 
down  rain.  There  was  a  good  twelve  hours'  ride 
before  us  to  Odnaes.  So  I  determined  to  be  off 
early.  Everybody  else  at  the  hotel  who  was  bound 
in  the  same  direction  was  equally  anxious  to  get 
away.  Breakfast  was  ordered  for  us  at  half-past 
six,  and,  even  before  I  had  attacked  my  ration  of 


37.8  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

hard-boiled  eggs,  I  interviewed  the  head-hostler 
upon  the  subject  of  horses  for  the  carriage,  which 
had  been  drawn  up  before  the  hotel  during  the 
night.  He  was  a  Norwegian  who  did  not  speak 
a  word  of  English  ;  and,  if  he  had  spoken  it  as 
well  as  myself,  we  could  not  have  conversed  at 
any  length,  he  was  so  beset  by  people  all  want- 
ing their  carriages  and  horses  immediately.  Thus 
far  in  our  progress  from  Christiania  I  had  not 
had  occasion  to  test  the  persuasive  power  of  the 
krone.  The  humble  ore  had  been  good  enough 
for  the  trivial  exigencies  that  had  hitherto  arisen. 
Taking  care  not  to  be  observed  by  others,  I  held 
up  one  of  the  enticing  bits  of  paper  so  that  the 
head-hostler  could  see  it.  Then  I  said  "  Odnses," 
and  displayed  seven  fingers. 

Sure  enough,  at  7  A.  M.,  sharp,  there  was  the 
carriage  with  two>fine  ponies  attached,  and  a  bright- 
looking  lad  in  the  seat,  waiting  at  the  door  of  the 
hotel  for  me.  Other  persons,  who  had  previously 
ordered  their  carioles  or  stolkjcurres,  looked  on  in 
amazement.  They  had  been  coaxing  and  scolding 
the  poor  man,  but  had  evidently  not  thought  of  my 
simple  expedient  to  secure  his  attention. 

We  set  out  in  fine  style,  with  much  cracking  ol 
the  whip,  all  for  effect,  however,  as  Norwegian 
horses  need  only  a  hint — which  sounds  like  uncork- 
ing a  bottle,  and  is  made  by  the  lips  of  the  driver — 


HEADLONG  SPEED, 


379 


in  order  to  display  their  speed.  They  stop  with 
equal  readiness  in  response  to  a  buzzing  sound 
emitted  between  his  teeth.  The  road  was  good, 
and  that  was  fortunate,  for  we  went  at  a  frightful 
pace  over  every  short  level  stretch,  and  just  the 
same  down-hill.  Some  of  the  hills  slope  at  an  angle 
of  forty-five  degrees.  But  this  made  no  difference. 
The  horses  dashed  down  one  with  a  speed  that  did 
not  slacken  till  they  had  proceeded  some  distance 
up  the  next  hill.  They  would  climb  this  at  a  fast 
walk,  and  at  the  top  would  be  fresh  and  ready  for 
another  plunge.  After  we  had  taken  several  of 
these  dives  and  come  up  safe  and  sound,  the  sensa- 
tion of  anxiety  about  consequences  wore  off,  and 
we  enjoyed  the  delirious  rush.  They  recalled  the 
excitement  of  tobogganing  and  swinging.  But 
they  did  not  permit  that  survey  of  the  scenery 
which  one  ought  to  take  leisurely  in  Norway. 
Whether  we  went  fast  or  slow  mattered  but  little 
that  day,  however,  for  the  rain  soon  began  to  fall 
in  torrents.  It  was  a  steady  down-pour,  which 
taxed  our  utmost  resources  in  leather  aprons,  water- 
proofs, shawls,  and  umbrellas.  We  were  obliged 
to  close  the  sides  of  the  carriage  with  oil-skins 
which  had  been  provided  by  the  ever-thoughtful 
Bennett.  Thus  almost  hermetically  sealed  up,  we 
missed  the  charms  of  the  landscape,  save  when,  at 
rare  intervals,  we  would  make  a  little  chink  through 


380  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

the  folds  of  the  envelopes  and  catch  tantalizing 
glimpses  of  it.  The  driver — poor  boy — must  have 
been  soaked  through  his  heavy  top-coat  to  the  skin. 
He  urged  his  horses  at  their  topmost  speed,  to  gain 
the  station  where  some  other  luckless  fellow  must 
take  his  place.  We  reached  it  in  about  three  hours, 
and  found  it  full  of  travelers,  rained  in.  Bed  and 
board  there  were  out  of  the  question,  in  the  crowd- 
ed condition  of  the  station,  and  our  only  recourse 
was  to  go  ahead. 

Here  the  omnipotent  kroner  again  came  into 
play  with  immense  effect.  The  exhibition  of  a  few 
of  them  procured  an  immediate  change  of  horses, 
and  no  less  a  person  than  the  station-master  himself 
occupied  the  post  of  driver.  A  full-grown  man  was 
very  acceptable  for  that  function  in  such  weather. 
Small  boys  and  girls  were  no  more  to  be  thought  of. 
The  station-master  made  himself  as  nearly  water- 
proof as  possible ;  and  I  hope  was  none  the  worse 
for  his  exposure  to  the  storm,  which  continued  una- 
bated all  the  way  to  a  certain  Sanitarium  at  which 
we  had  been  advised  to  stop  for  luncheon,  instead 
of  going  on  to  the  regular  station  for  that  meal. 
Never  was  advice  better  given,  or  more  obediently 
followed.  We  found  the  Sanitarium  a  large,  first- 
class  house.  It  would  be  a  haven  of  rest,  even  in 
the  finest  weather,  after  three  hours  of  furious  driv- 
ing. As  a  refuge  from  the  pitiless  storm,  it  was 


RAVENOUS  APPETITES.  381 

welcome  and  delightful  beyond  description.  Luck- 
ily, we  did  not  want  a  room,  for  the  house  was 
packed  full  of  summer  boarders,  who  were  said 
to  be  drinking  or  bathing  in  the  mineral  waters 
which  are  the  chief  attractions  of  the  place.  In 
whatever  way  they  took  the  waters,  they  were  un- 
doubtedly deriving  benefit  from  them  ;  for  when 
we  sat  down  to  dinner  with  about  one  hundred 
and  fifty  of  the  convalescent  patients,  we  never  saw 
such  a  display  of  ravenous  appetites.  The  bill  of 
fare  was  long.  The  waiters  were  nimble  and  at- 
tentive. The  dishes  were  gigantic  platters,  heaped 
up  with  food  and  passed  with  the  utmost  dispatch 
down  the  long  lines  of  hungry  guests.  As  fast 
as  these  mighty  trays  were  cleared  of  their  bur- 
dens, others  equally  large  and  laden  with  steam- 
ing meats  or  vegetables  would  come  to  the  rescue. 
A  sturdy  corps  of  white-aproned  carvers,  at  an  ad- 
joining table,  could  be  heard  slashing  away  at  the 
hot  joints,  trying  to  keep  pace  with  the  jaws  of  the 
patients,  and  were  at  last  successful,  however  diffi- 
cult their  task. 

It  would  not  have  been  thought  possible,  but  is 
a  fact  that,  in  the  final  stage  of  the  repast,  plenty 
of  fruit  was  passed  around  and  no  takers.  But 
then  it  must  be  explained  that  pudding,  ice-cream, 
cakes,  and  a  most  toothsome  dish,  which  I  will 
now  briefly  describe  from  the  best  information 


382  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

procurable,  had  already  made  the  circuit  for  all 
who  wanted  them.  This  novel  delicacy,  without 
an  English  name,  is  prepared  as  follows:  A  thin 
gruel  is  made  of  rice-flour,  or  farina  will  do.  Into 
this,  while  boiling  hot,  a  mixture  of  jellies  is  intro- 
duced— the  greater  the  variety  the  better.  Cur- 
rant, raspberry,  strawberry — whatever  the  good 
housewife  finds  on  her  pantry  -  shelves  —  are  all 
dumped  in  together  and  vigorously  stirred.  The 
artful  compounder  studies  how  to  blend  the  nat- 
ural flavors  of  these  jellies  so  that  no  one  shall  be 
in  the  ascendant.  When  the  operation  is  an  entire 
success,  the  eaters  should  not  be  able  to  distinguish 
any  particular  berry  in  the  compost,  but  should 
enjoy  a  gustatory  effect  in  which  each  of  the  jellies 
is  lost,  only  to  reappear  improved  in  a  new  and 
delicious  combination  that  defies  analysis  on  the 
palate.  It  is  eaten,  hot  or  cold,  with  or  without 
cream  and  sugar. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

OMNIPOTENT     KRONER — THE     FAMILY     PARLOR     AT 
ODN^ES — RANDS  AND   CHRISTIANIA  FIORDS. 

AT  the  Sanitarium  we  scraped  acquaintance 
with  one  of  the  ever-friendly  English  race.  When- 
he  learned  that  we  were  bound  to  Odnaes  that  after- 
noon through  the  rain,  which  was  still  pouring,  he 
expressed  his  sympathy.  For  he  explained  that  it 
was  impossible  to  get  any  accommodations  at  the 
only  hotel  there.  He  and  a  party  of  friends  had 
been  turned  away  from  that  house  the  night  be- 
fore, and  had  come  on  in  the  dark  to  the  Sanita- 
rium, where  they  were  fortunate  in  securing  the 
billiard-table — the  only  sleeping-place  (except  the 
floors)  not  then  engaged. 

As  there  was  no  prospect  of  a  relief  from  the 
pressure  at  any  place  on  the  road  while  the  severe 
storm  lasted,  we  were  in  a  quandary.  But  I  had 
unfailing  faith  in  the  power  of  kroner,  and  decided 
to  go  on.  We  could  not  be  worse  off  at  Odnass 
than  at  the  Sanitarium,  and,  when  there,  would  be 


384  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

so  much  farther  on  the  way  to  Christiania  and  the 
home  comforts  of  the  Victoria  Hotel. 

If  the  day  had  been  fine,  the  view  from  this 
watering-place  in  the  hills  would  have  been  mag- 
nificent. It  takes  in  a  marvelous  combination  of 
peaks,  table-lands,  valley,  lakes,  and  rivers.  But 
none  of  these  objects  were  visible  through  the 
rain  ;  and,  after  many  abortive  efforts  to  catch 
glimpses  of  grandeur  and  loveliness  which  we  had 
come  so  far  to  see,  we  shut  ourselves  up  in  the 
carriage  as  tightly  as  possible,  and  tried  in  vain 
to  sleep. 

The  road  to  Odnses  was  down-hill  most  of  the 
way,  and  the  drivers,  whom  we  changed  twice, 
made  good  time.  After  five  hours  of  imprison- 
ment in  the  carriage,  relieved  only  by  alighting  at 
two  little  stations  while  fresh  horses  were  put  to 
the  pole,  we  reached  Odnass.  The  moment  we 
came  in  view  of  the  hotel  I  realized  how  hopeless 
was  the  expectation  of  obtaining  any  bed  there. 
Six  or  eight  vehicles  of  different  kinds  were  drawn 
up  in  front  of  the  door.  Others  were  squeezed  into 
the  small  sheds  near  the  large  stables,  the  stalls  of 

• 

which  had  long  been  filled  with  horses,  the  later 
comers  being  tied  to  trees  near  the  house.  But 
the  most  convincing  evidence  of  an  overflow  was 
the  human  crowd  on  the  balcony,  in  the  doorways 
and  windows.  Every  pane  of  glass  had  its  peering 


A  DIPLOMATIC  HEAD-PORTER.  385 

face.  There  were  rows  of  people  standing  on  tip- 
toe and  looking  over  one  another's  heads  at  us  as 
our  driver  brought  round  the  carriage  as  near  the 
front  door  as  he  could  get.  The  countless  lookers- 
on  smiled  sarcastically  as  they  saw  us  about  to 
alight.  That  unanimous  grin  suddenly  decided 
my  line  of  action. 

The  head-porter  of  the  hotel  presented  himself 
at  the  door  of  the  carriage.  He  had  good  man- 
ners, and  spoke  a  little  English.  He  deeply  re- 
gretted that  they  could  not  give  us  anything  better 
than  a  place  on  the  floor,  without  bedclothes  of  any 
kind. 

"Very  well,"  said  I,  pointing  to  a  neat  little 
house — the  only  one  in  sight — "perhaps  they  can 
take  us  in." 

"  Varee  soree,  sir,  but  they  been  all  full  two 
day." 

In  this  serious  emergency,  I  must  test  the  vir- 
tue of  kroner.  I  handed  one  to  the  head-porter, 
and  promised  him  three  more  if  he  would  secure  a 
bed  for  us  in  that  cottage. 

"  I  vill  try,  sir,"  he  replied,  with  a  slight  shrug 
of  the  shoulders ;  but  he  spoke  as  one  not  without 
hope. 

Jumping  to  the  front  seat  by  the  side  of  the 
driver,  he  ordered  the  carriage  on  to  the  other 
house.  We  pulled  up  before  it,  and  waited  there 


386  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW, 

in  the  rain  while  the  head-porter  went  inside  to  in- 
terview the  proprietor. 

We  knew  from  the  exterior  of  the  dwelling  that 
it  was  private,  and  that  lodging  and  board  were 
provided  by  the  occupants  only  as  a  favor  to  those 
who  could  not  possibly  be  accommodated  at  the 
hotel. 

In  about  five  minutes,  that  seemed  equal  to  fif- 
teen— so  acute  was  our  suspense — the  good  fellow 
returned  beaming  with  smiles,  and  followed  by  a 
man  who  looked  a  welcome  which  he  could  not 
speak. 

The  head-porter  wore  an  air  of  mystery  as  he 
thrust  his  head  into  the  carriage  and  said,  in  a  low 
voice:  "You  vill  have  de  best  room — de  parlor. 
Dey  vill  make  you  much  attention.  Don't  say 
noting." 

"  Mum's  the  word,"  said  I,  not  understanding 
the  object  of  the  last  remark,  and  not  caring  to  ask. 
It  was  evident,  from  the  manner  of  the  master  of 
the  house,  that,  during  the  last  five  minutes,  he  had 
been  in  some  way  powerfully  impressed  with  a 
sense  of  our  importance ;  and,  in  consequence,  had 
consented  to  give  up  his  parlor,  which  he  had  re- 
fused to  all  previous  comers.  I  appreciated  the 
courtesy,  knowing  from  books  how  sacred  in  the 
eyes  of  all  these  northern  races  is  the  parlor — or 
best  room — of  the  house. 


IN  THE  FAMILY  PARLOR.  387 

The  promised  reward  was  slipped  into  the  hand 
of  the  diplomatic  head-porter.  He  smiled  his 
thanks. 

"  You  vill  please  be  so  goot  to  step  out,"  he 
then  said,  taking  his  hat  off  in  the  rain  to  mark  his 
profound  respect  for  us. 

We  observed  that  this  act  had  its  effect  on  the 
man  who  stood  looking  down  from  the  piazza,  for 
he  bowed  in  sympathy. 

I  do  not  to  this  day  know  by  what  highly  col- 
ored representations  the  extraordinary  privilege 
was  obtained.  I  only  know  that,  as  if  by  magic,  the 
prohibition  was  removed  from  this  almost  holy 
room,  and  two  single  beds — which  probably  were 
in  use  elsewhere  by  members  of  the  family  at  the 
time  of  our  arrival — were  brought  in.  The  pro- 
prietor, his  wife,  and  three  bright  little  girls  all 
lent  ready  hands  to  transforming  the  parlor  into  a 
comfortable  sleeping-room.  As  not  one  of  them 
could  speak  any  English,  they  only  looked  at  us 
deferentially.  In  their  eyes  we  were  persons  of 
great  distinction — thanks,  no  doubt,  to  the  lively 
imagination  of  our  good  friend  from  the  Odnaes 
Hotel. 

The  parlor  had  a  neat,  home-woven  carpet — a 
rare  decoration  in  Norwegian  houses — an  excess 
of  new  furniture  in  mahogany  and  horse-hair, 
brightly  figured  window-curtains,  and  family  pho- 


388  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

tographs  hung  on  the  papered  walls.  Having  ar- 
rived late,  we  were  anxious  to  sup  at  once,  and  the 
head-porter  had  told  them  to  hurry  up.  But  they 
were  desirous  to  show  their  respect  in  preparing 
a  supper  of  unimpeachable  excellence.  We  were, 
therefore,  kept  waiting  and  hungry  for  about  an 
hour ;  and,  during  this  interval,  the  pleasant  land- 
lady and  her  daughters  frequently  knocked  at  the 
door,  and,  upon  being  admitted,  would  courtesy, 
and  proceed  to  bring  in  more  towels,  or  water,  or 
drinking-glasses,  or  something  else  supposed  to  be 
conducive  to  our  comfort.  Among  the  other  of- 
ferings was  a  vase  of  flowers. 

The  supper  would  have  been  very  good  for 
persons  who  could  not  have  too  many  hard-boiled 
eggs  at  once.  They  were  the  principal  dish,  and 
in  the  abundance  of  their  supply  we  recognized  a 
marked  compliment.  For  ordinary  persons  prob- 
ably not  more  than  four  eggs  apiece  would  have 
been  served.  There  were  about  two  dozen  in  the 
bowl  before  us,  covered  by  a  steaming  napkin  to 
keep  them  warm.  The  only  meat  was  ham  un- 
boiled and  thin  slices  of  sausage,  which  did  not 
commend  themselves  to  conservative  palates.  But 
berries  and  cream,  the  bread  and  butter,  and, 
above  all,  the  cheese  were  highly  relished,  and  the 
only  fault  with  the  tea  was  what  one  finds  every- 
where— its  weakness.  We  were  waited  on  bv  the 


CURIOSITY  EXCITED.  389 

little  girls,  looking  nice  with  their  hair  done  up 
in  ribbons,  and  long,  snow-white  aprons  strapped 
about  their  shoulders.  They  watched  us  with  great 
curiosity,  and  occasionally  compared  notes  in  whis- 
pers. Their  manner  indicated  that  they  were  over- 
awed. 

Meanwhile  our  presence  in  the  house  had 
caused  no  small  stir  among  other  guests,  who 
filled  every  available  nook  and  corner.  It  may 
well  have  surprised  them  to  see  the  spacious  apart- 
ment, which  they  had  all  longed  to  occupy  at  any 
price,  finally  given  up  to  two  persons,  when,  with 
close  packing,  it  might  have  sufficed  for  a  stag- 
party  of  ten.  We  were  much  stared  at  whenever 
we  entered  and  left  the  room ;  and  two  English- 
men, after  eying  me  closely  awhile,  tried  to  draw 
me  into  a  conversation  about  myself;  but  I  re- 
called the  mysterious  injunction,  "Don't  say  not- 
ing ! "  and  stood  on  my  dignity.  If  there  was  any 
illusion  of  which  we  were  reaping  the  advantage — 
if,  for  example,  we  had  been  represented  by  the 
romancing  head-porter  as  a  princely  couple  trav- 
eling incognito — it  was  not  for  me  to  assist  in  dis- 
pelling it. 

After  a  good  night's  rest,  we  sat  down  to  more 
hard-boiled  eggs  about  six  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
We  breakfasted  thus  early  in  order  to  take  the 


390 


ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW, 


steamer  down  the  Rands-Fiord  to  the  point  of  rail 
connection  with  Christiania.  The  rain  had  ceased, 
the  air  was  temperate,  and  we  could  see  all  around 
us  signs  of  the  approaching-  departure  of  guests  so 
long  weather-bound  at  Odnses.  Most  of  them  were 
going  on  to  Sorum,  over  the  road  we  had  traveled 
the  day  before.  Only  two  or  three  persons  from 
the  hotel — and  none  from  the  little  cottage — were 
destined  for  the  steamer. 

The  bill  for  our  accommodation  was  present- 
ed, and  proved  to  be  reasonable.  If  we  had  un- 
consciously been  posing  as  high  and  mighty  per- 
sonages, we  were  not  unduly  charged  for  it.  When 
the  family  assembled  on  the  piazza  to  see  us  off, 
their  manners  showed  how  much  they  appreciated 
the  honor  we  had  done  them.  May  they  never  be 
made  victims  of  a  less  innocent  imposition !  If,  to 
keep  up  the  character  thrust  up'bn  me,  I  tipped  a 
trifle  to  the  daughters  of  the  house,  I  hope  to  be 
pardoned  for  that  much  complicity  in  the  fraud. 

Our  guide-book  said  that  the  Rands-Fiord  was 
only  six  and  a  half  miles  long,  and  we  had  thought- 
lessly supposed  the  miles  in  question  to  be  English. 
But,  to  be  sure  of  it,  when  we  got  on  board  I  asked 
the  captain  (who  spoke  English  fairly)  what  time 
the  boat  was  due  at  the  railway-station  down  the 
fiord.  Looking  at  his  watch — which  then  marked 
seven  o'clock  —  he  replied,  "  At  half-past  one." 


RANDS-FIORD. 


391 


"  What ! "  said  I,  in  amazement,  "  six  hours  and  a 
half  for  as  many  miles  ?  "  "  Yes,"  he  answered, 
laughing,  "  Norwegian  miles ! "  One  of  these 
equals  seven  of  English  measure. 

There  was  some  little  delay  in  putting  the  car- 
riage— the  trusty  companion  of  our  travels — on 
board.  It  had  been  hauled  down  from  the  house 
where  we  passed  the  night,  and  hoisted  to  the 
upper  deck  of  the  baby-steamer,  out  of  the  way. 
This  done,  we  began  the  passage  of  the  Rands- 
Fiord,  and  found  it  pleasantly  unexciting.  It  is 
almost  a  duplicate  of  Lake  Spirellen,  save  that  the 
water  has  less  of  a  current,  and  the  surrounding 
mountains  are  tamer.  There  is  no  apparent  reason 
why  the  one  sheet  of  water  is  called  a  lake  and  the 
other  a  fiord.  They  are  both  expansions  of  rivers, 
like  the  Tyri-Fiord  heretofore  described,  and  in  no 
sense  inlets  of  the  sea,  though  they  may  empty  into 
it  by  long  and  winding  streams.  We  stopped  many 
times  on  the  trip  to  take  on  or  let  off  passengers. 
With  only  a  few  exceptions,  the  transfer,  as  on 
Lake  Spirellen,  was  made  rapidly  by  small  boats, 
which  put  off  for  the  shore  as  we  approached  a 
landing-place,  and  did  the  business  of  shipping  or 
unloading  passengers  and  freight  with  neatness 
and  dispatch.  These  transfers,  often  as  they  oc- 
curred, were  in  the  nature  of  "  incidents "  of  the 
voyage,  and  every  person  on  board  watched  the 


392  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

operation  for  the  twentieth  time  with  unabated 
interest. 

The  great  event  of  the  day  was  a  dinner  served 
at  i  P.  M.  in  the  small  cabin  below  deck.  It  was  a 
solid  meal,  with  varieties  of  meat,  which  we  were 
glad  to  taste  again  after  our  short  deprivation  of 
fresh  beef  and  mutton.  Just  before  we  reached 
our  destination  at  the  end  of  the  fiord,  the  sun 
shone  out  with  a  splendor  that  rejoiced  all  hearts. 
It  made  the  little  dancing  waves  of  the  Rands- 
Fiord  sparkle,  and  threw  a  warm  flush  over  the 
dark  hills  on  either  hand.  As  we  looked  back  on 
the  water  which  had  been  traversed,  it  recalled  the 
Tappan-Zee  of  the  noble  Hudson  River  as  seen 
from  Piermont. 

At  the  Rands-Fiord  station  we  took  rail — the 
carriage  following  by  the  goods-train — for  Christi- 
ania.  This  part  of  the  route,  though  one  from 
which  the  traveler  expects  the  least,  is  no  less  in- 
teresting than  the  rides  by  carriage  or  steamer. 
The  train  passes  through  one  of  the  loveliest  dis- 
tricts of  Eastern  Norway.  The  line  skirts  the  west 
shore  of  the  Tyri-Fiord,  affording  glimpses  of  blue 
mountains  not  seen  on  our  journey  along  the  east 
shore.  It  passes  through  the  old  towns  of  Hang- 
sund  and  Drammen,  enabling  the  tourist  to  see 
occasionally  from  the  car-windows  houses  and  cos- 
tumes slightly  different  from  those  he  finds  in  the 


CHRISTIANA-FIORD. 


393 


more  modern  and  conventional  Christiania.  And 
then,  with  a  mighty  curve,  the  train  follows  the 
trend  of  the  magnificent  and  properly  named 
fiord  upon  which  Christiania  stands.  The  views 
here  are  very  fine.  From  the  height  above  the 
water  one  can  look  down  on  the  calm  expanse 
dotted  with  little  islands,  each  one  green  with  its 
patch  of  woodland,  or  brown  with  its  ripe  rye  and 
barley.  The  sails  of  the  pleasure-yachts  and  fish- 
ing-smacks gleam  against  the  dark  bosom  of  the 
fiord  ;  and  at  intervals  of  a  few  miles  along  the 
shore  are  towns  or  villages  where  white  houses 
shine  from  afar — proofs  positive  of  the  industry 
and  thrift  of  the  Scandinavian  race.  One  may 
travel  thousands  of  miles  west  and  east,  north  and 
south  in  Norway  and  never  behold  a  fairer  scene 
than  that  which  made  everybody  on  the  train 
thrust  head  out  of  window  and  gaze  at  it  until  a 
range  of  low  coast-hills  shut  it  from  view. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  GOTHENBURG  WHALE — THREE  KINGS  IN  A 
BUNCH — NORTHERN  OUT-DOOR  LIFE— A  STUDY 
OF  WINDMILLS. 

LET  me  tell  my  readers  something  about  the 
pursuit  of  a  whale  under  difficulties.  At  Gothen- 
burg, Sweden,  I  learned  that  a  stuffed  whale,  sixty 
feet  long,  could  be  seen  in  a  museum  of  that  city. 
Objects  said  to  be  whales  in  the  act  of  spouting 
are  often  pointed  out  to  one  at  sea.  But  they  are 
usually  miles  away.  They  throw  up  jets  which 
look  in  the  distance  like  little  puffs  of  steam  or 
exploding  beer-bottles.  I  always  assented  to  the 
existence  of  those  whales,  to  avoid  controversy,  but 
reserved  my  doubts.  Here,  at  last,  was  promised 
on  the  dry  land  what  had  never  really  been  seen 
by  me  on  the  ocean.  So  I  lost  no  time  in  seeking 
out  the  museum.  Entering  it,  I  steered  at  once  for 
the  fish  department.  A  single  glance  up  and  down 
the  long  room  convinced  me  that  there  was  not 
even  a  baby-whale  among  its  skinny  and  foul- 


INEFFECTIVE  PANTOMIME.  395 

smelling  treasures.  An  old  woman,  with  a  large 
brass  plate — numbered — hanging  round  her  neck, 
was  the  only  other  living  occupant  of  the  room. 
She  was  the  custodian.  I  said,  "  Speak  English  ?  " 
She  only  shook  her  head.  As  I  could  not  speak 
Swedish,  I  tried  pantomime,  which  goes  a  great  way 
in  strange  countries.  First  I  looked  round  in  aston- 
ishment, as  if  missing  something  that  ought  to  be 
there ;  then  stretched  both  hands  as  high  and  wide 
as  possible,  to  imply  that  the  thing  wanting  was 
of  immense  size ;  finally,  made  a  noise  like  the  fizz 
of  champagne,  and  jerked  both  thumbs  into  the  air. 
I  flattered  myself  that  all  that  meant  a  whale,  if 
anything.  But  the  old  woman's  face  remained  a 
wrinkled  blank.  She  did  not  "  catch  on."  A  happy 
thought !  I  opened  out  both  arms  like  a  pair  of 
jaws  big  enough  to  take  in  Jonah.  She  exclaimed, 
"  Yaw !  "  with  much  energy,  and  took  me  to  a 
corner  of  the  room  and  left  me  in  front  of — an 
alligator,  with  a  very  open  countenance.  Still 
keeping  my  temper — though  under  extreme  provo- 
cation— I  made  a  fierce  wiggle-waggle  motion  with 
both  hands  to  represent  a  big  fish  that  thrashes 
about  a  good  deal  with  his  flat  tail.  This  time 
there  could  be  no  doubt  that  she  understood  me, 
for  she  piloted  me  into  a  side-show,  where  I 
brought  up  before — a  shark.  That  was  too  much 

for  my  patience.     Forgetting  that  the  poor  woman 

18 


396  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

could  not  speak  a  word  of  English,  I  cried  out: 
"  How  stupid !  Why  don't  you  show  me  the 
whale  ?  "  You  should  have  heard  her  yell :  "  Oh, 
yaw,  yaw  !  der  vale,  der  vale !  "  Thus  near  was 
the  Swedish  word  to  the  English  one  all  the  time 
I  was  wasting  my  best  pantomime  on  her.  In 
two  minutes  more  I  had  descended  a  long  cork- 
screw flight  of  stairs  at  the  heels  of  the  aged  guide, 
and  there,  in  a  cool  basement,  found  the  monster 
upon  the  ownership  of  which  Gothenburg  is  en- 
titled to  put  on  airs,  for  it  is  claimed  to  be  the 
largest  whale  ever  skinned  and  mounted.  It  is  all 
of  sixty  feet  long,  and  so  thick  in  proportion,  that 
twenty  Jonahs  could  sit  around  inside  quite  com- 
fortably. In  fact,  its  interior  is  fitted  up  with  seats, 
and  may  be  hired  by  small  parties  who  take  a  fancy 
to  eating  and  drinking  in  a  whale's  belly.  Along- 
side of  the  skin  is  the  skeleton,  also  an  object  of 
great  interest,  looking  like  the  frame  of  a  schooner 
bottom-side  up. 

It  is  not  often  that  the  tourist  has  a  chance  to 
see  three  kings  in  a  bunch.  At  Copenhagen  we 
were  just  in  time  to  witness  the  entry  of  the  King 
of  Portugal.  He  came  to  pay  a  little  visit  to  the 
King  of  Denmark,  one  of  whose  sons,  the  King  of 
Greece,  was  then  spending  a  few  days  at  the  old 
home.  I  hope  it  is  not  very  unrepublican  to  say 


THREE  KINGS  IN  A  BUNCH.  397 

that  if  I  must  look  on  kings  I  prefer  that  they 
should  "  act  as  such,"  and  always  be  wearing 
their  crowns  and  robes,  and  holding  scepters  in 
their  hands  like  pokers.  If  they  would  ride  on 
horseback,  or  in  golden  chariots,  so  much  the  bet- 
ter. These  three  kings  sat  in  open  barouches,  like 
other  people  ;  and  they  had  left  their  robes  and 
crowns  and  scepters  at  home.  But  they  were  good 
enough  to  put  on  gorgeous  cocked  hats  with  fount- 
ains of  white  feathers,  and  coats  plastered  all  over 
with  gold  which  served  as  a  background  for 
decorations  blazing  with  diamonds.  It  was  not 
for  me — as  the  stern  and  unbending  representative 
of  a  republic — to  scowl  upon  all  those  lovely  gew- 
gaws and  that  beautiful  man  -  millinery.  They 
seemed  appropriate  enough  for  an  occasion  of 
show.  The  philosopher  accepts  them  gratefully, 
like  any  other  free  entertainment.  Probably  the 
three  kings  were  bored  by  it  more  than  any  of  the 
spectators.  The  King  of  Portugal  is  a  middle-aged, 
stout  gentleman  with  an  expression  of  face  amiable 
as  far  as  it  could  be  seen  under  a  weeping-willow  of 
plumes.  To  be  born  good-looking  is  a  great  initial 
advantage.  Perhaps  that  is  why  the  young  King  of 
Greece  received  so  large  a  share  of  the  applause. 
The  reception  was  planned  for  the  royal  stranger. 
But  the  people  of  Copenhagen  take  a  lively  per- 
sonal interest  in  their  own  dynasty.  They  follow 


398  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

its  fortunes  in  all  parts  of  the  world,  and,  when  any 
of  its  members  return  for  a  visit,  they  never  fail  to 
testify  their  pleasure.  If  King  Christian  of  Den- 
mark  needed  the  indulgence  of  his  people  to  any 
great  extent,  much  would  be  pardoned  to  him  be- 
cause he  is  the  father  of  so  many  good-looking 
children  who  have  got  on  in  the  world. 

These  lucky  children  reciprocate  the  popular 
feeling  at  Copenhagen,  and  come  back  from  their 
distant  thrones  at  least  once  a  year.  Then  there  is 
a  regular  house-warming.  The  husbands  and  the 
wives  and  the  babies  are  all  on  hand.  The  court 
photographer  is  called  in,  and  pictures  of  the  party 
are  taken  in  a  variety  of  combinations  and  attitudes. 
A  favorite  group  is  one  in  which  the  Tsar  of  Rus- 
sia— the  big  brother-in-law — occupies  the  central 
position.  He  is  a  tall,  bluff-looking  man,  with  a 
laughing  face.  In  a  Derby  hat  and  a  shooting- 
jacket  he  would  pass  for  a  young  English  squire, 
without  a  care  in  the  world.  He  holds  by  the 
hand — with  a  tight  grip,  one  would  say — the  gentle 
Dagmar  who  shares  his  fate.  By  her  side  is  one 
who  looks  almost  like  her  twin-sister — the  Princess 
of  Wales — and  the  Prince  himself  is  within  touch. 
The  tallest  and  best  looking  of  all  the  men  is  the 
King  of  Greece,  and  his  queen  nestles  up  to  him 
very  fondly  in  the  pictures.  The  Crown-Prince  of 
Denmark  is.  also  there,  doing  credit  to  the  family. 


NORTHERN  OUT-DOOR  LIFE  399 

His  wife,  a  princess  of  Sweden,  with  other  desir- 
able qualities,  is  rich  in  her  own  right — a  fact  of 
which  the  thrifty  Danes  remind  you  with  pride. 
The  youngest,  Princess  Thyra  and  her  husband, 
the  Duke  of  Cumberland,  with  the  unmarried  son 
of  the  King,  make  up  the  second  generation  of  this 
great  family  party.  The  first  consists  of  the  parents 
— the  still  comely  Christian  and  his  wife — and  the 
third  generation  is  a  mass  of  babies  that  I  have 
never  stopped  to  count.  They  swarm  all  over  the 
steps  of  the  palace  where  these  pictures  are  taken. 
Some  one  of  them  is  always  wriggling  about,  just 
enough  to  blur  the  photograph  at  that  point. 

There  is  something  pathetic  in  the  way  that  the 
people  of  Copenhagen,  Gothenburg,  Christiania,  and 
other  northern  cities  make  the  most  of  their  short 
summer.  Flowers  are  very  precious  to  them,  since 
they  can  have  them  for  so  few  months  out-of-doors. 
We  found  every  available  foot  of  front  garden 
brilliant  with  blossoms — the  reddest  and  yellowest 
preferred.  Every  window  in  every  house  had  its 
box  of  pinks,  nasturtiums,  marigolds,  heliotropes, 
and  mignonettes.  For  the  time  being  the  natives 
make  believe  that  they  are  living  in  the  tropics. 
They  play  with  sun-shades  and  awnings  as  if  they 
really  needed  them.  They  imitate  the  custom  of 
Italy,  and  take  their  meals  in  the  open  air,  as  if  it 


400  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

were  not  generally  cool  and  uncomfortable  there. 
I  never  saw  an  illusion  better  maintained.  But  I 
noticed  that  many,  who  carried  the  self-deception 
too  far,  paid  for  it  in  coughs  and  sneezes.  It  was 
not  till  we  descended  to  the  latitude  of  Hamburg, 
that  we  found  it  an  unalloyed  pleasure  to  sit  under 
the  trees  in  the  edge  of  evening  and  dine.  The 
good  Hamburgers  know  how  to  live.  They  have 
established  a  first-class  zoological  garden  in  a 
shady  wood,  near  the  center  of  their  city.  They 
have  stocked  this  garden  with  the  most  ferocious 
and  delightful  wild  beasts,  securely  caged.  They 
have  organized  a  restaurant  and  cafl  of  an  incred- 
ible feeding  capacity.  They  have  provided  chairs 
for  everybody.  They  have  hired  the  best  military 
band  in  Hamburg  and  bade  it  play  every  day  free 
of  cost  to  all  comers. 

We  went  out  there  to  dinner  one  afternoon — 
between  five  and  six  o'clock — and  saw  a  sight 
not  yet  so  familiar  that  it  has  ceased  to  be  deeply 
interesting.  There  were  thousands  of  women  and 
young  girls,  neatly  dressed,  sitting  at  little  tables 
sipping  their  coffee  or  beer  and  nibbling  their 
pretzels,  and  knitting  or  sewing  "  between  whiles." 
Every  one  was  talking  or  laughing.  Between  and 
under  and  over  the  tables,  and  constantly  on  the 
move,  were  the  happiest  of  children,  in  numbers 
past  counting.  It  was  evident  that  this  was  the 


HAPPY  PEOPLE.  401 

children's  hour,  and  that  they,  with  all  their  mothers 
and  nurses,  were  having  a  good  time.  In  the  midst 
of  the  joyous  tumult  would  be  heard  the  bark  of 
the  seal,  the  roar  of  the  lion,  the  squall  of  the  pea- 
cock. Presently  the  men  began  to  collect  and  to 
occupy  seats  not  hitherto  taken.  Corks  popped  out 
of  bottles  and  incense  ascended  from  the  deep  bowls 
of  pipes.  The  fathers  had  come  to  join  their  babies. 
Not  a  policeman  was  in  sight,  and  there  was  no 
need  of  one.  The  only  turbulent  and  dangerous 
creatures  anywhere  around  were  the  wild  beasts, 
and  they  were  behind  the  bars.  The  music  was  ex- 
ceedingly good — as  it  always  is  in  Germany — and 
it  was  pleasant  to  watch  the  vast  audience  drink- 
ing in  the  sweet  sounds  with  ecstasy  and  beating 
time  with  knitting-needles,  pipes,  beer-mugs,  and 
everything  else  handy.  But  in  some  of  the  most 
delicate  passages  of  favorite  compositions,  when 
the  conductor  was  doing  his  best  to  quiet  down 
the  band,  funny  effects  would  be  produced  by  the 
growls  of  the  bears,  which  somebody  was  stirring 
up  with  a  long  pole. 

Before  quitting  the  colder  lands  of  the  North, 
let  me  not  fail  to  mention  the  warm,  luxuriant — 
almost  tropical — tastes  of  her  sculptors.  After 
leaving  Rome  and  Florence,  one  never  sees  as 
many  marble  Venuses,  Cupids,  Adonises,  and  Apol- 
los  as  in  the  capitals  of  Sweden,  Norway,  and 


402  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

Denmark.  They  are  all  new,  and  sparkle  like 
loaf-sugar.  At  first,  I  thought  they  were  copies  ol 
great  originals  in  the  Italian  galleries.  But  they 
proved  to  be  native  conceptions  of  the  old  myths, 
wrought  out  with  the  patient  art — if  not  the  skill 
— of  the  true  Greek.  It  would  take  double  win- 
dows and  red-hot  stoves  to  make  those  gods  and 
goddesses  look  comfortable  in-doors  in  a  Norwe- 
gian January.  The  costume  of  Eden  is  even  less 
adapted  to  the  temperature  of  the  front  yard. 
Imagine  Venus  in  a  snow-drift! 

Coming  by  boat  from  Korsor,  Denmark,  to 
Kiel,  Prussia,  the  passengers  on  our  steamboat  had 
the  pleasure  of  reviewing  a  division  of  the  Ger- 
man ironclad  fleet.  Attention  was  first  caught  by 
the  rapid  discharge  of  cannon  from  a  man-of-war 
in  the  offing.  We  could  see  her  balls  strike  the 
water.  At  the  same  time  she  was  tacking  to  all 
points  of  the  compass  and  making  signals.  We 
next  came  in  sight  of  a  torpedo-fleet.  Each  boat 
had  a  little  smoke-stack,  and  hugged  the  water  like 
a  spider.  With  the  most  powerful  glass  the  de- 
tails of  this  fleet  could  not  be  made  out  at  a  dis- 
tance of  four  or  five  miles.  Then  we  passed  two 
or  three  great  black  hulks,  with  a  double  row  of 
teeth  all  round.  These  were  war-ships  of  the 
ordinary  type,  and  did  not  make  one  think  very 


GERMAN  IRONCLADS.  403 

highly  of  the  German  navy.  But,  a  few  miles 
farther  on,  there  was  a  change  of  opinion.  In- 
side the  spacious  harbor  of  Kiel,  and  under  the 
guns  of  the  great  forts,  lay  the  flower  of  the  ships 
upon  which  Germany  will  rely  in  her  next  war 
with  a  naval  power.  We  counted  twelve  of  them 
— all  new  and  terrible.  They  comprised  every 
variety  of  ram  and  battery,  but  we  could  not  make 
out  anything  that  looked  like  a  revolving  turret. 
One  mode  of  armament  is  a  favorite.  It  con- 
sists of  two  guns  mounted  to  sweep  the  upper 
forward  deck,  two  with  the  freest  play  on  the 
starboard  and  two  more  on  the  port  side.  The 
guns  are  all  of  large  caliber,  of  great  length,  de- 
signed for  pounding  at  long  range.  Seen  aft,  these 
ironclads  are  very  noticeable  for  their  breadth  of 
beam.  They  would  float  tranquilly  enough,  but 
seem  deficient  in  speed.  As  they  were  all  at 
anchor,  we  could  not  judge  of  that  point.  The 
skeletons  of  other  vessels  which  promise  to  be, 
when  completed,  as  formidable  as  those  before 
us,  were  to  be  seen  in  the  imperial  ship-yards 
near  by.  Every  country  of  Europe  which  has 
a  navy  is  exercising  it  about  this  time.  Ger- 
many is  only  in  the  fashion  when  she  orders  out 
her  ironclads  for  mock-battles  in  the  Baltic.  But, 
though  we  all  knew  this  fact,  we  could  not  help 
wondering  what  power  she  intended  to  impress 


404  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

with   these   exhibitions   of   her   resources   on    the 


sea. 


I  suppose  that  few  travelers  trouble  them- 
selves to  study  windmills  from  the  inside.  Per- 
haps these  structures  are  best  regarded  as  artis- 
tic objects.  They  certainly  set  off  landscapes 
very  well.  Standing  on  little  elevations,  flinging 
out  their  gaunt  arms  against  the  evening  sky, 
they  kindle  the  fancies  of  the  beholder.  A  brain 
cooler  than  Don  Quixote's  might  imagine  them 
endowed  with  life.  I  confess  to  an  ancient  desire 
to  know  something  of  the  internal  economy  of  wind- 
mills. It  was  hard  to  understand  how  such  slender, 
graceful  towers  could  contain  the  machinery  for 
doing  any  really  serious  work,  and,  still  more, 
that  the  arms  could  have  hurt  Don  Quixote  very 
much  when  he  pitched  into  them,  lance  in  rest. 
Revolving  lazily  in  a  moderate  breeze,  they  look 
harmless  enough.  An  inspection  of  the  works  of 
one  of  the  windmills  on  a  hill-top  in  Bremen  has 
enlightened  me  a  little.  That  which  looks  so  small 
and  fragile  at  a  distance,  is  a  four-story  house.  It 
is  at  once  a  granary,  a  mill,  and  a  residence.  The 
miller  and  his  family  have  in  it  their  roomy  par- 
lor, dining-room,  kitchen,  and  chambers.  These 
apartments  are  all  comfortably  furnished,  and  so 
well  isolated  that  the  floating  meal,  of  which  the 


THE   USEFUL    WINDMILL.  405 

air  is  full  in  the  mill  itself,  does  not  invade  their 
home.  I  have  never  seen  anything  neater,  snugger, 
and  more  generally  habitable  than  the  set  of  rooms 
which  the  miller's  good  wife  was  pleased  to  show 
us.  When  the  wind  stirred,  there  was  no  idle- 
ness on  those  premises.  The  arms — monstrous 
when  measured  from  the  upper  platform — turned 
three  great  mill-stones,  and  had  power  to  spare. 
The  miller  and  his  boys  strained  every  muscle  to 
feed  the  ravenous  maws  and  bag  the  meal  as  fast 
as  produced.  Americans  in  Europe  are  too  apt  to 
think  ill  of  the  old-fashioned  modes  of  working 
here.  Windmills  are  often  cited  by  them  as  speci- 
mens of  antiquated  notions.  They  would  change 
their  minds  if  they  could  see,  as  I  saw,  how  simply, 
effectively,  and  above  all  how  cheaply,  a  windmill 
can  do  useful  work  for  mankind. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

DIAMOND-CUTTING  AT  AMSTERDAM. 

THERE  is  something  in  the  business  of  diamond- 
cutting  that  appeals  strongly  to  the  imagination. 

It  must  be  extremely  interesting  to  see  the  pre- 
cious stones  at  the  mines  disclosing  themselves  to 
the  anxious  seekers.  Any  chance  blow  of  the  pick 
may  bring  to  light  a  mate  for  the  Koh-i-noor,  the 
Orloff,  the  Shah,  the  Sancy,  the  Pitt,  the  Hope,  or 
any  other  of  the  great  diamonds  of  the  world.  In 
a  moment  the  digger  may  become  a  rich  man. 
His  occupation  has  all  the  excitement  of  gam- 
bling, with  the  essential  difference  in  his  favor 
that  he  can  make  a  steady  living  at  it,  though  he 
may  fail  to  draw  one  of  the  capital  prizes.  Work 
in  the  diamond-fields  of  Brazil  and  South  Africa 
is  a  legitimate  pursuit,  and,  when  well  directed, 
wrests  a  subsistence  from  the  stony  earth  as  surely 
as  from  a  corn-patch  or  a  cabbage-garden.  It  is, 
perhaps,  more  seductive  to  the  outside  observer 
than  to  the  fellow  down  there  in  the  pit  who  does 
all  the  grubbing. 


COSTER'S.  407 

The  traveler  who  can  not  make  it  convenient 
to  go  to  South  Africa  or  Brazil  to  see  diamonds 
found,  may,  by  visiting  Amsterdam,  see  them  cut. 
That  old  Dutch  city — famous  for  its  grave  men, 
its  plump  women,  its  dikes,  its  canals,  its  quaint 
houses,  its  commercial  push,  its  thrift  and  conse- 
quent wealth — enjoys  the  unique  distinction  of  cut- 
ting the  diamonds  of  the  world.  Within  a  few 
years  some  other  cities  have  engaged  in  the  busi- 
ness in  a  small  way.  But  Coster,  of  Amsterdam, 
still  handles  most  of  the  rough  stones  which  reach 
Europe.  At  his  establishment  the  Koh-i-noor  was 
recut,  and  its  latent  fire  fully  revealed.  He  gave  to 
the  Star  of  the  South — the  largest  stone  ever  un- 
earthed in  Brazil — the  blaze  of  light  which  justifies 
its  brilliant  name.  He  may  truly  be  said  to  find  the 
real  diamond  under  the  dull,  opaque  crust  which 
often  hides  its  glow  in  the  native  state.  He  is  even 
more  the  discoverer  of  its  beauties  than  the  man 
who  picked  it  out  of  its  gravelly  bed. 

If  Baedeker  had  given  me  some  account  of  Cos- 
ter's way  of  cutting  diamonds,  I  might  not  have 
taken  the  trouble  to  look  him  up  in  Amsterdam, 
where  there  are  so  many  other  things  to  claim  the 
tourist's  attention.  But,  in  the  absence  of  such  in- 
formation, I  was  impelled  to  seek  it  for  myself. 

In  books  one  may  see  pictures  of  diamond-min- 
ing in  Brazil,  where  the  slaves  are  represented  as 


4o8  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

toiling  with  shovels  and  hoes  in  rich  gravel,  while 
overseers  stand  in  sentry-boxes  all  about,  watching 
every  movement  of  the  men  lest  they  may  conceal 
some  gem  in  their  scanty  clothing.  He  wonders  if 
they  keep  up  that  kind  of  espionage  at  Coster's, 
where  the  opportunities  for  stealing  diamonds  must 
be  very  great.  I  supposed  there  would  be  some 
difficulty  in  gaining  admission  to  a  place  where 
pecks  of  stones  were  lying  round  loose  in  various 
stages  of  treatment,  and  even  the  air  was  full  of 
diamond-dust.  This  was  romance.  Now  let  us 
look  at  the  reality. 

Coster  offers  no  obstacle  to  the  inquiring  mind. 
It  is  only  understood  that  a  small  sum  of  money 
— a  guilder  (thirty-eight  cents)  is  the  proper  size 
of  it — must  be  paid  to  the  superintendent,  who 
turns  it  over  to  a  fund  for  the  good  of  the  work- 
men. Every  person  who  bears  in  his  face  and 
clothes  evidence  of  his  ability  to  stand  that  assess- 
ment is  admitted  and  made  welcome ;  and,  if  he 
has  a  lady  with  him,  that  is  the  best  voucher  of 
his  pecuniary  responsibility. 

The  man  who  piloted  us  about  Coster's  spoke 
English,  and  made  himself  agreeable.  He  first 
showed  a  handful  of  stones  in  the  rough.  As  he 
tossed  them  down  carelessly  on  a  table,  I  thought 
they  were  bits  of  gum  or  grains  of  tapioca.  Not 
one  of  them  sparkled.  Their  hue  was  generally  a 


IN  THE  ROUGH.  409 

dirty  yellow;  only  a  few  were  milk-white;  some 
were  cream-colored.  Invited  to  examine  the  stones, 
I  took  them  into  my  hand  with  some  reluctance, 
and  kept  my  eye  all  the  time  on  the  exhibitor,  being 
afraid  he  might  turn  his  head,  or  be  called  off  to 
another  part  of  the  room,  and  leave  me  in  posses- 
sion of  those  treasures,  with  a  blind  confidence  in 
my  integrity.  I  trust  it  would  not  have  been  mis- 
placed, but  do  not  vvant  to  take  charge  of  a  handful 
of  diamonds,  even  temporarily,  for  anybody  else. 
There  was  no  need  of  anxiety  on  this  score,  for  the 
man's  gaze  was  never  once  withdrawn  from  that 
valuable  property. 

It  was  hard  to  realize  that  those  poor-looking 
scraps  of  mineral  were  diamonds — some  worth  one 
thousand  dollars  apiece  when  cut.  Not  one  of 
them  was  a  perfect  crystal,  a  pair  of  pyramids  set 
base  to  base,  of  which  we  see  diagrams  in  the 
books.  The  edges  had  mostly  been  worn  away 
by  much  rolling  in  water,  as  one  would  say,  their 
general  appearance  being  that  of  pebbles  smoothed 
in  a  brook.  But,  on  close  inspection,  remains  of 
the  original  crystalline  shape  were  always  detected. 
Every  diamond  still  retained  rudimentary  cutting 
edges,  which  are  all  that  is  left  of  the  old  sharp 
lines.  As  they  rested  in  my  palm,  they  felt  cold 
as  ice.  As  they  struck  against  one  another  in  mov- 
ing them  about,  they  emitted  faint,  musical  sounds ; 


4io  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

and  their  weight  was  remarkable  for  their  bulk. 
These  peculiarities  would  attract  the  notice  of  the 
most  ignorant  person.  He  would  know  that  the 
stones  in  his  hand  were  out  of  the  common.  But 
it  would  be  safe  to  bet  that,  if  they  were  thrown 
down  by  the  quart  in  the  streets  among  other 
stones,  they  would  pass  unnoticed  by  persons  not 
familiar  with  the  appearance  of  uncut  diamonds. 
The  experiment,  however,  is  not  likely  to  be 
made. 

After  examining  this  handful  of  diamonds,  one 
has  no  desire  to  see  any  more  in  the  rough.  He 
could  look  at  a  cart-load  of  them  without  the  least 
emotion.  They  do  not  excite  that  feeling  of  cu- 
pidity which  is  said  to  exist,  however  passive,  in 
every  human  breast. 

Our  guide  then  led  us  into  a  room  where  we 
saw  the  first  process  of  cutting.  Several  men  were 
engaged  in  this  work,  which  requires  great  expe- 
rience, judgment,  and  skill.  It  is  there  that  the 
shape  of  the  polished  stones  is  decided  upon — 
whether  it  shall  be  a  brilliant  with  many  flashing 
facets,  or  a  rose  with  but  few.  Here  the  faults,  if 
any,  of  each  stone  are  discovered  by  unerring  eyes, 
and  the  defective  parts  chipped  away.  We  stood 
by  the  side  of  one  of  the  men  while  he  disposed  of 
what  seemed  a  very  knotty  question.  He  held  be- 
tween thumb  and  finger  a  stone  as  large  as  a  fil- 


A  SKILLFUL    WORKMAN.  411 

bert.  To  the  uninstructed  eye  it  was  a  lump  of 
gum  arabic,  with  a  certain  symmetry  of  outline 
showing  its  old  octahedral  form.  After  turning  it 
over  and  inspecting  it  critically,  he  put  it  in  a  little 
vise  before  him,  and  screwed  the  jaws  tightly  to- 
gether. Then  he  took  a  light,  sharp  chisel  in  one 
hand  and  a  small  hammer  in  the  other.  He  could 
not  have  looked  more  unconcerned  if  he  had  been 
about  to  crack  an  after-dinner  walnut.  My  heart 
was  in  my  mouth  when  I  saw  him  apply  his  chisel 
to  the  diamond  and  give  it  a  smart  tap  with  the 
hammer.  What  if  he  should  break  the  stone  in 
pieces,  instead  of  removing  a  defective  fraction 
of  it!  The  guide  had  said  it  was  a  twenty-carat 
diamond,  and  believed  to  be  of  the  first  water. 
But  the  operation,  hazardous  as  it  appeared,  was 
easy  to  the  skilled  artisan,  and  was  successful.  He 
had  struck  the  diamond  exactly  on  the  line  of  cleav- 
age, and  a  thin  piece  fell  into  a  box  sunk  into  the 
table  just  beneath  the  vise,  and  intended  for  the 
reception  of  the  chips.  The  man  picked  it  out, 
and  I  saw  at  a  glance  that  it  was  full  of  black 
specks.  These  were  uncrystallized  carbon,  like 
coal  -  dust,  the  presence  of  which  would  have 
spoiled  the  stone  when'  cut.  He  then  showed  me 
the  freshly  exposed  surface  of  the  diamond.  The 
rough,  yellowish  scale  of  the  imperfect  portion 
having  been  removed,  one  could  see  something  of 


4I2  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

the  true  sparkle  of  the  gem,  though  its  full  lumi- 
nous effect  would  be  evoked  only  by  the  polishing 
process.  Sometimes  'it  is  necessary  to  detach  a 
spotty  part  by  working  in  a  direction  other  than 
the  cleavage-line ;  then  the  hammer  and  chisel  are 
of  no  avail.  The  operator  resorts  to  a  saw,  which, 
strangely  enough,  is  toothless.  It  is  nothing  more 
than  a  fine  steel  wire,  perhaps  double  the  thickness 
of  a  hair.  This  wire  is  kept  moistened  by  olive- 
oil,  in  which  diamond-dust  has  been  mixed.  As  it 
is  moved  forth  and  back,  saw-like,  across  the  sur- 
face, the  dust  supplies  the  place  of  teeth,  and  the 
metallic  thread  slowly  buries  itself  in  that  hardest 
of  stones. 

The  truth  of  the  adage,  "  Diamond  cuts  dia- 
mond," was  made  clear  to  us  by  the  spectacle  of 
six  men  illustrating  it.  Each  man  held  in  each 
hand  a  short  stick,  having  at  the  end  a  socket  filled 
with  lead  or  some  easily  melted  alloy.  The  dia- 
mond to  be  cut  is  partly  sunk  below  the  surface 
of  this  fusible  metal  while  it  is  still  in  a  molten 
condition,  and  just  before  it  cools ;  and,  when  the 
metal  "sets,"  there  is  the  diamond  immovably  im- 
bedded, with  enough  of  its  surface  exposed  to  en- 
able the  operator  to  attack  it  with  another  dia- 
mond, which  is  fixed  in  another  stick  the  same  way. 
Each  diamond  is  to  cut  the  other,  and  thus  two 
stones  are  simultaneously  prepared  for  the  market. 


"DIAMOND  CUTS  DIAMOND."  413 

When  the  exposed  parts  of  the  two  diamonds 
have  been  cut  by  each  other  as  far  as  possible,  then 
the  soft  metal  in  the  iron  sockets  is  melted,  the 
stones  are  released  and  turned  to  bring  the  uncut 
sides  uppermost,  and  the  work  proceeds  as  before. 
This  is  the  most  tedious  stage  of  the  business. 
One  watches  the  men  by  the  half-hour,  and  sees 
them  make  but  little  progress  as  they  press  one 
diamond  against  the  other  with  all  the  power  in 
their  arms,  and  rub  the  two  slowly  together  with 
a  faint,  crunching  noise.  If  the  sunlight  falls  upon 
the  scene,  one  may  notice  certain  glistening  motes 
dropping  into  a  little  pan  beneath-  their  hands. 
This  is  the  dust  of  diamonds,  which  is  most  care- 
fully saved  up  to  be  used  in  the  polishing,  the  final 
stage ;  and,  whatever  chippings  or  splinters  are 
obtained  here  or  elsewhere  in  handling  diamonds, 
are  pulverized  in  agate  mortars  for  the  same  pur- 
pose. 

At  intervals  the  workmen  pause  to  look  at  the 
diamonds,  to  see  how  they  are  getting  on.  We  ob- 
serve them  at  a  little  distance,  and  notice  the  ada- 
mantine luster  of  the  facets.  Already  it  is  possible 
to  pick  out  an  uncommonly  fine  stone  by  its  cold, 
steel-blue  light. 

The  most  interesting  department  of  Coster's  is 
the  one  where  the  polishing  is  done.  Here,  at 
last,  you  may  look  into  the  hearts  of  the  diamonds 


414  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

freed  from  their  grosser  vestments.  Here,  if  any- 
where, the  spectator  is  apt  to  be  stirred  with  un- 
holy covetousness.  If  he  has  a  lady  with  him,  she 
would  be  more  than  human  if  she  did  not  some- 
times cry  out,  "  How  splendid  !  "  "  Just  too  lovely 
for  anything ! "  and  ask  the  guide  how  much  a 
pair  of  such  diamonds  would  cost,  pointing  at  a 
perfect  beauty  that  would  weigh  ten  carats,  sure. 
Cases  are  reported  in  which  husbands,  at  that 
stage  of  the  rounds,  have  hurried  up  their  investi- 
gations, suddenly  finding  that  they  have  no  time 
to  "look  it  all  through,  my  dear."  And,  even 
when  they  have  torn  themselves  and  the  partners 
of  their  lives  away  from  the  scene  of  fascination, 
they  have  not  heard  the  last  of  Coster's  diamonds 
by  a  great  deal.  At  any  moment,  anywhere,  while 
looking  at  the  marble  or  bronze  effigies  of  a  cathe- 
dral, or  hunting  among  church -yard  tombs  for 
quaint  inscriptions,  or  rapturously  gazing  at  some 
Madonna  which  is  the  glory  of  a  picture-gallery 
— when  the  mind  ought  to  be  filled  with  the  most 
solemn  thoughts  —  one  may  hear  the  question, 
"  Weren't  they  splendid  ?  " 

"  What,  my  dear  ? "  says   the  dull   being  who 
never  takes  a  hint. 

"  Why,  those  diamonds  at  Coster's  !  " 
"  Oh,   yes,    I   remember — quite   pretty."      And 
then   the   insensate    husband,   perhaps,    instead   of 


AMONG   THE  POLISHERS.  415 

pursuing  the  interesting  subject,  begs  leave  to  re- 
call the  fair  one's  wandering  attention  to  the  beau- 
tiful carving  on  that  ancient  tomb,  or  the  seraphic 
expression  of  the  Virgin's  eyes,  etc. 

It  has  been  said  that  there  is  one  way  to  stop  a 
mouth  which  babbles  too  much  of  Coster's.  A 
kiss  will  do  it,  without  fail,  if  followed  up  by  a  gift 
of  something  in  diamonds,  according  to  the  means 
or  generosity  of  the  donor.  But  this  is  doubtless 
the  slander  of  a  cynic,  and  repeated  here  only 
under  protest. 

The  polishers  are  about  twenty  strong.  They 
are  mostly  young  fellows,  who  do  not  require 
glasses.  Sharp  eye-sight  is  the  indispensable  quali- 
fication for  their  work,  They  are  all  hanging  over 
horizontal  wheels  which  are  driven  at  tremendous 
speed.  Upon  these  revolving  disks  they  are  press- 
ing something  very  forcibly  with  both  hands.  It 
is  a  stick  with  a  diamond  imbedded  in  the  head 
thereof — the  same  that  we  have  seen  in  the  cutting- 
room.  Sometimes  the  workman  releases  one  hand, 
and  takes  a  feather  from  a  cup  by  his  side.  This 
has  been  soaking  in  olive-oil,  in  which  there  is  an 
ingredient  of  diamond-dust.  He  lets  a  few  drops 
of  it  fall  on  the  flying  wheel  at  a  point  near  its 
center  or  axis  of  motion.  The  centrifugal  force  at 
once  scatters  the  oil  and  the  included  dust  all  over 
the  surface  in  a  barely  perceptible  film.  Its  tend- 


41 6  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

ency  is  to  be  thrown  off  the  edge  of  the  wheel  but 
this  is  prevented  by  a  raised  rim,  which  keeps  it  all 
somewhere  on  the  disk.  Without  the  application 
of  this  mixture  the  diamond  would  never  get  a 
polish. 

As  we  stood  looking  down  the  line  of  the  pol- 
ishers, who  in  turn  glanced  from  their  work  at  us, 
the  guide  made  a  signal  to  one  of  them.  He  at 
once  withdrew  his  diamond  from  the  wheel,  wiped 
it  on  a  leather  apron,  and  brought  it  to  us  for  ex- 
amination. It  was  a  large  stone — fifteen  carats, 
perhaps — which  had  been  polished  enough  to  show 
its  native  worth.  Its  color  was  a  yellow,  so  deep 
as  to  convert  into  a  merit  what  would  otherwise 
have  been  a  great  defect.  Had  the  tint  been  that 
of  straw  instead  of  orange,  its  selling  value  would 
have  been  small.  But  as  it  was  extremely  yellow, 
even  for  a  South  African  stone,  connoisseurs  would 
be  sure  to  want  it  for  their  collections.  There 
would,  perhaps,  be  a  competition  for  the  treasure. 
Strange  caprice  of  fancy  which  elevates  a  fault  into 
a  virtue  ! 

Another  signal  from  the  guide  brought  forward 
a  diamond  of  a  very  different  sort.  It  was  much 
more  to  my  taste  than  the  other.  As  the  man  put 
the  stick  into  my  hand,  the  end  of  it  seemed  to 
blaze.  It  shone  so  vividly  that  its  size  could  not 
clearly  be  made  out.  Apparently  it  was  larger 


THE  FINEST   WATER.  417 

than  the  yellow  one.  But  the  guide  informed  me 
that  the  polished  surface  of  this  stone  was  much 
the  smaller.  Its  finer  water  imparted  the  wonderful 
brilliancy  I  had  noticed.  From  its  facets  leaped 
coruscations  that  dazzled  the  eye  like  gleams  of 
lightning.  It  needed  no  expert  to  tell  one  that  here 
was  a  diamond  of  the  rarest  quality — something 
that  might  fairly  be  claimed  to  stand  first  on  the 
list  of  those  twenty-odd  grades  into  which  the 
white  stones  are  divided  by  the  dealers.  I  could 
not  refrain  from  touching  it  with  the  tip  of  a  finger 
before  the  guide  could  warn  me.  The  contact, 
which  was  but  for  an  instant,  blistered  the  skin,  so 
great  was  the  heat  caused  by  the  friction  of  polish- 
ing. It  was  a  pleasure  to  know  that  this  peerless 
gem — about  eight  carats  when  finished — would  be 
worth  far  more  to  adorn  the  neck  or  bosom  of 
beauty  than  the  bigger  yellow  one  of  the  rare 
shade,  destined  only  for  the  cabinet  of  some  whim- 
sical male  collector. 

After  the  exhibition  of  this  perfect  diamond  to 
our  wondering  gaze,  anything  of  lesser  splendor 
would  have  failed  to  please.  So  we  bade  farewell 
to  Coster's,  after  paying  a  visit  to  the  graceful 
steam-engine  which  supplies  the  motive  power  for 
all  the  disks  that  are  kept  whirling  on  the  busy 
second  floor.  There  are  other  floors  of  the  same 
establishment  where  other  work  is  done.  There 


41 8  ROUNDABOUT  TO  MOSCOW. 

is  a  great  safe  down  in  the  basement,  which  is 
opened  for  you,  disclosing  boxes  and  bags  holding 
treasures  to  the  extent  of  as  many  million  dollars 
as  you  choose  to  imagine.  Every  well-regulated 
visitor  at  Coster's  is  pleased  to  pay  the  compliment- 
ary fee  expected  of  him,  when  he  knows  that  it 
goes  to  the  benefit  of  the  workmen ;  for,  if  his 
eyes  have  been  open  to  anything  besides  diamonds, 
he  must  have  noticed  intelligence,  sobriety,  and 
honesty  written  in  their  faces.  Then  he  under- 
stands that  at  Coster's  there  is  a  better  guarantee 
for  the  security  of  diamonds  against  theft  and  loss 
than  if  an  overseer  stood  watching  each  squad  of 
men  with  pistol  in  hand. 


APPENDIX. 


CONSTITUTIONAL  GOVERNMENT  FOR  RUSSIA. 

(SEE  CHAPTER  XXVIII.) 

IT  is  a  matter  of  common  report  and  belief,  in 
Russia,  that  the  experiment  of  a  constitutional  gov- 
ernment would  have  been  made  on  the  accession 
of  Alexander  III,  but  for  the  opposition  of  his  min- 
isters. His  father  was  strongly  disposed  to  estab- 
lish a  representative  body  of  the  people,  and  a 
responsible  ministry.  This  reform  would  have  been 
a  crowning  of  that  edifice,  the  building  of  which 
was  cut  short  by  his  murderers.  The  present  Tsar 
desired  to  carry  out  this  inherited  scheme,  but  be- 
fore acting  deemed  it  prudent  to  take  the  collective 
opinion  of  his  cabinet.  This  fact  shows  his  readi- 
ness to  receive  advice  on  important  questions.  He 
mentioned  his  own  preference,  but  declared  that 
he  would  be  guided  by  a  majority  opinion.  This 
was  adverse  to  the  proposed  change.  So  ended, 
for  the  time  being,  a  movement  of  the  greatest 
significance. 

The  Tsar  is  said  to  be  the  strongest  man  in  his 
dominions.  Mythical  stories  are  told  of  his  ability 
to  straighten  out  horseshoes  with  his  naked  hands, 
19 


420          CONSTITUTIONAL   GOVERNMENT 

and  double  up  silver  pieces  between  his  thumb  and 
finger.  Those  who  know  him  testify  to  his  high 
personal  courage.  The  seclusion  of  which  we  hear 
so  much  is,  after  all,  only  nominally  observed.  The 
careful  precautions  against  Nihilists  are  adopted 
by  the  chief  of  police,  who  charges  himself  with 
the  safety  of  his  master.  Alexander  III  attends 
military  reviews  and  public  ceremonies  of  church 
and  state.  He  goes  where  duty  calls  him.  He  is 
seen  more  often  in  the  streets  and  parks  of  St. 
Petersburg  than  Queen  Victoria  in  those  of  Lon- 
don. She,  too,  is  guarded  at  such  times  by  soldiers 
and  policemen,  and  no  one  thinks  the  protection 
superfluous.  The  Tsar,  in  all  his  movements,  is 
hedged  about  with  no  more  restrictions  than  seem 
to  be  needed  for  the  security  of  a  man  who  is 
known  to  be  pursued  by  a  sworn  band  of  assassins. 
If  he  is  as  strong  and  brave  as  reported,  it  would 
be  strange  if  he  lacked  decision  of  character.  Once 
resolved  on  conforming  the  imperial  system  to  the 
more  modern  type,  he  may  not  again  be  dissuaded 
by  any  ministry  from  executing  that  beneficent  de- 
sign. 

There  is  no  doubt  that,  if  unmistakable  public 
opinion  in  Russia  should  call  for  this  great  change, 
it  would  be  made.  It  remains  to  be  ascertained  if 
a  majority  of  her  people  really  want  those  con- 
stitutional forms  for  which  the  heart  of  civilized 
man  everywhere  is  supposed  to  yearn.  If  so, 
Russia,  fortunately,  has  the  machinery  at  hand 
for  the  gratification  of  her  longings.  Every  Tir, 
or  commune,  now  possesses  the  full  power  of  self- 


FOR  RUSSIA. 


421 


government  in  economic  and  strictly  local  affairs. 
The  village  elders,  who  are  true  home-rulers,  are 
chosen  by  the  people.  In  every  province  or  de- 
partment of  Russia  the  same  principle  is  illustrated 
on  a  larger  scale.  It  is  only  in  respect  to  imperial 
or  political  issues  that  the  autocracy  makes  itself 
felt.  The  citizens  of  Moscow,  for  example,  may  do 
many  things  at  their  own  expense  for  which  we  of 
New  York  are  obliged  to  crave  permission  of  the 
Legislature. 

Accustomed  to  govern  themselves  within  a  cer- 
tain range,  the  Russians  could  easily  be  fitted  for 
participation  in  the  higher  duties  which  a  consti- 
tutional government  would  impose  upon  them.  A 
lower  House  could  be  evolved  from  the  seeds  of 
the  Tir.  An  upper  House  could  be  created  by  the 
Tsar  out  of  abundant  existing  materials.  Thus, 
without  any  violent  metamorphosis,  liberal  insti- 
tutions might  be  introduced  into  Russia.  They 
may  come,  as  a  spontaneous  offering  from  the 
throne,  sooner  than  their  most  sanguine  friends  in 
the  empire  now  expect. 


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military  profession,  and  the  story  of  his  life  would,  at  least  to  military  men,  have 
been  a'matter  of  passing  interest.  The  tragic  circumstances  of  his  death  seemed 
to  demand  some  explanation  in  harmony  with  his  established  reputation  and 
character.  At  the  earnest  solicitation  of  his  nearest  relatives,  the  author,  al- 
though conscious  of  his  own  deficiencies,  undertook  the  task  of  compiling  a 
brief  record  of  General  Upton's  life  for  bis  family  and  immediate  personal 
friends."— From  Preface. 

LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF  THOMAS  GOLD  APPLE- 
TON.  Prepared  by  SUSAN  HALE.  With  a  Portrait.  12mo. 
Cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.76. 

Mr.  T.  G.  Appleton,  it  is  needless  to  say,  was  well  known  in  social  and  literary 
circles  in  Europe  and  America,  and  distinguished  as  one  of  the  best  conversa- 
tionalists of  the  day.  The  present  work  consists  of  a  biographical  sketch,  selec- 
tions from  his  letters,  and  some  account  of  his  different  journeys. 

LOUIS  PASTEUR:  HIS  LIFE  AND  LABORS.  By  his  SON-IN- 
LAW.  Translated  from  the  French  by  Lady  CLAUD  HAMILTON. 
With  an  Introduction  by  Professor  TYNDALL.  12mo.  Cloth,  $1.25. 

"Since  the  first  studies  of  M.  Pasteur  on  molecular  dissymmetry,  down  to 
his  most  recent  investigations  on  hydrophobia,  on  virulent  diseases,  and  on  the 
artificial  cultures  of  living  contagia,  the  author  of  these  pages  has  been  able,  if 
not  to  witness  all,  at  least  to  follow  in  its  principal  developments,  this  uninter- 
rupted series  of  scientific  conquests." — From  the  Preface. 

"  A  record  in  which  the  verities  of  science  are  endowed  with  the  interest  of 
romance.1'— Professor  TYNDALL. 

MEMOIRS  OF  NAPOLEON:  HIS  COURT  AND  FAMILY.  By 
the  Duchess  D'ABRANTES  (Madame  Junot).  2  vols.  12mo.  Cloth, 
$3.00. 

Thin  book  supplies  many  valuable  and  Interesting  details  respecting  the 
Court  and  Family  of  Napoleon,  which  are  found  in  no  other  work.  The  aufhor's 
opportunities  for  observation  were  excellent  and  long  continued,  and  she  has 
availed  herself  of  them  so  effectually  att  to  present  us  with  a  very  lively,  enter- 
taining, and  readable  book,  as  well  as  to  supply  important  materials  for  future 
historians  and  biographers. 


New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  1,  8,  &  6  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS, 

THE  GREVILLE  MEMOIRS  COMPLETE. 

A  JOURNAL  OF  THE  REIGNS  OF  KING  GEORGE  IV 
AND  KING  WILLIAM  IV.  By  the  late  CHARLES  C.  F.  GRE- 
TILLE,  Esq.,  Clerk  of  the  Council  to  those  Sovereigns.  Edited  by 
HEXUY  REEVE,  Registrar  of  the  Privy  Council.  Two  vols.  12mo. 
Cloth,  $4.00. 

"Since  the  publication  of  Horace  Walpole's  Letters,  no  book  of  greater  his- 
torical interest  has  seen  the  light  than  the  Greville  Memoirs.  It  throws  a  curious, 
and,  we  may  almost  say,  a  terrible  light  on  the  conduct  and  character  of  the  pub- 
lic men  in  England  under  the  reigns  of  George  IV  and  William  IV.  He  descrip- 
tions of  those  kings  and  their  kinsfolk  are  never  likely  to  be  forgotten." — A'ew 
York  Times. 

A  JOURNAL  OF  THE  REIGN  OF  QUEEN  VICTORIA, 
FROM  1837  TO  1852.  The  "  Greville  Memoirs,"  Second  Part. 
Bv  the  late  CHARLES  GREVILLE,  Clerk  of  the  Council.  Uniform  with 
Part  First.  Two  vols.  12mo.  Cloth,  $4.00. 

"Mr.  Oreville's  Diary  is  one  of  the  most  important  contributions  which  have 
ever  been  made  to  the  political  history  of  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
He  is  a  graphic  and  powerful  writer;  and  his  usual  habit  of  making  the  record 
•while  the  impression  of  the  events  was  fresh  upon  his  mind,  gives  nis  sketches 
of  persons  and  places,  and  his  accounts  of  conversations,  great  vividness.  The 
volumes  will  be  read  with  as  much  interest  for  their  sketches  of  social  life  as  for 
their  political  value."— London  Daily  News. 

A  JOURNAL  OF  THE  REIGN  OF  QUEEN  VICTORIA, 
FROM  1852  TO  1860.  By  the  late  CHARLES  GREVILLE,  E-q., 
Clerk  of  the  Council.  Being  third  and  concluding  part  of  the  "  Gre- 
ville Memoirs."  One  voL  12mo.  Cloth,  $2.00. 

h< 
the  Re 

nal  of  the  , 

each  case,  per  vol., 

This  volume,  in  addition  to  personal  anecdotes,  deals  with  many  important 
events,  such,  for  instance,  as  the  re-establishment  of  the  French  Empire,  the 
Crimean  War,  the  ludian  Mutiny,  and  the  Italian  War. 


THE  HISTORICAL  REFERENCE-BOOK,  COMPRISING 
A  CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE  OF  UNIVERSAL  HISTORY,  A 
CHRONOLOGICAL  DICTIONARY  OF  UNIVERSAL  HISTORY, 
A  BIOGRAPHICAL  DICTIONARY.  With  Geographical  Notes. 
For  the  Use  of  Students,  Teachers,  and  Readers.  Second  edition. 
By  Locis  HEILPRIN.  .  Crown  8vo,  579  pages.  Half  leather,  $3.00. 

"A  second,  revised  edition  of  Mr.  Louis  Heilprin's  'Historical  Reference- 
Book'  has  just  appeared,  marking  the  well-earned  success  of  this  admirable 
work— a  dictionary  of  dates,  a  dictionary  of  events  (with  a  special  gazetteer  for 
the  places  mentioned),  and  a  concise  bioeraphical  dictionary,  all  in  one,  and  all 
in  the  highest  degree  trustworthy.  Mr.  Heilprin's  revision  is  as  thorough  as  Ms 
original  work.  Any  one  can  test  it  by  running  ever  the  list  of  persons  deceasf  • 
(ince  this  manual  first  appeared."— Evening  Post. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETOX  &  CO.,  1,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

REMINISCENCES    AND    OPINIONS,    1813-1885.     By  Sir 

FRANCIS  HASTINGS  DOYLE,  formerly  Professor  of  Poetry  at  Oxford. 
Crown  8vo,  cloth,  $2.00. 

"  The  author  has  known  and  appreciated  some  of  the  best  among  two 
generations  of  men,  and  he  still  holds  his  rank  in  the  third.  One  of  the 
pleasantest  of  recent  publications  is  not  the  less  instructive  to  those  wLo 
are  interested  in  present  or  recent  history." — Saturday  Review. 

"  The  volume  appears  to  fulfill  in  almost  every  respect  the  ideal  of  an 
agreeable,  chatty  book  of  anecdotal  recollections.  .  .  .  The  reminiscences 
are  those  of  a  genial  man  of  wide  culture  and  broad  sympathies ;  and  they 
form  a  collection  of  anecdotes  which,  as  the  production  of  a  single  man,  is 
unrivaled  in  interest,  in  variety,  and  hi  novelty." — London  Mhenceum. 

"For  Sir  Francis  Doyle's  book  we  have  nothing  to  give  but  words  of 
the  strongest  commendation.  It  is  as  pleasant  a  book  as  we  have  read  for 
many  a  long  day." — London  Spectator. 

"  The  volume  teems  with  good  stories,  pleasant  recollections,  and  happy 
sayings  of  famous  men  of  a  past  generation." — Illustrated  London  A'ews. 

SKETCHES   FROM  MY  LIFE.     By  the  late  ADMIRAL  HOBART 
PASHA.    With  a  Portrait.     12mo,  paper  cover,  60 cents;  cloth,  $1.00. 

This  brilliant  and  lively  volume  contains,  in  addition  to  numerous  ad- 
ventures of  a  general  character,  descriptions  of  slaver-hunting  on  the  coast 
of  Africa,  blockade-running  in  the  South  during  the  Civil  War,  and  expe- 
riences in  the  Turkish  navy  during  the  war  with  Eussia. 

"  A  memoir  which  enthralls  by  its  interest  and  captivates  by  its  ingenu- 
ous modesty.  ...  A  deeply  interesting  record  of  a  very  exceptional  career." 
— Pull  Mall  Gazette. 

"  The  sailor  is  nearly  always  an  adventurous  and  enterprising  variety  of 
the  human  species,  and  Hobart  Pasha  was  about  as  fine  an  example  as  one 
could  wish  to  see.  .  .  .  The  sketches  of  South  American  life  are  full  of  in- 
terest. The  sport,  the  inevitable  entanglements  of  susceptible  middies  with 
beautiful  Spanish  girls  and  the  sometimes  disastrous  consequences,  the 
duels,  attempts  at  assassination,  and  other  adventures  and  amusements,  are 
described  with  much  spirit.  .  .  .  The  storv  of  his  slaver-hunting  carries 
one  back  to  boyish  recollections  of  Captain  iMarryat's  delightful  talcs.  .  .  . 
The  sketches  abound  in  interesting  details  of  the  American  war.  It  is  im- 
possible to  abridge  the  account  of  these  exciting  rushes  [blockade-running] 
through  the  line  of  cruisers — our  readers  must  enjoy  them  for  themselves." 
— London  Athenceum. 

"  '  Sketches  from  My  Life,'  by  the  late  Admiral  Hobart  Pasha,  provides 
rery  interesting  reading.  It  relates  in  a  frank  and  rough  sailor  fashion  the 
principal  events  in  its  author's  romantic  and  adventurous  career,  and  is  par- 
ticularly attractive  in  its  hunting  incidents,  its  spirited  accounts  of  chasing 
slave  vessels,  its  stories  of  blockade-running  during  our  Civil  War,  and  its 

Eictures  of  Turkish  life,  military,  naval,  and  social.     It  is  a  bright  and 
reezy  book  generally,  and  is  full  of  entertainment." — Boston  Gazette. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  1,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &   CO.'S  PUBLICA TIONS, 

THE  TWO  SPIES  :  NATHAN  HALE  AND  JOHN  ANDREA  By 
BENSON  J.  LOSSING,  LL.  D.  Illustrated  with  Pen-and-ink  Sketches. 
Containing  also  Anna  Seward's  "  Monody  on  Major  AndreV' 
Square  8vo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $2.00. 

This  work  contains  an  outline  sketch  of  the  most  prominent  events  in 
the  lives  of  the  two  notable  spies  of  the  American  Revolution — Nathan  Hale 
and  John  Andre,  illustrated  oy  nearly  thirty  engravings  of  portraits,  build- 
ings, sketches  by  Andre,  etc.  Among  these  illustrations  are  pictures  of 
commemorative  monuments :  one  in  memory  of  Hale  at  Coventry  .Connecti- 
cut ;  of  Andre"  in  Westminster  Abbey ;  one  to  mark  the  spot  at  Tarrytown 
where  Andre"  was  captured  ;  and  the  memorial-stone  at  Tappaan  set  up  by 
Mr.  Field  to  mark  the  spot  where  Andr6  was  executed.  The  volume  also 
contains  the  full  text  and  original  notes  of  the  famous  "  Monody  on  Maior 
Andre,"  written  by  his  friend  Anna  Seward,  with  a  portrait  and  "biographi- 
cal sketch  of  Miss  Seward,  and  letters  to  her  by  Major  Andre. 

THE  REAR-GUARD  OF  THE  RESOLUTION.  By  EDMUND 
KIRKE,  author  of  "  Among  the  Pines,"  etc.  With  Portrait  of  John 
Sevier,  and  Map.  12mo,  cloth,  $1.50. 

Many  readers  will  recall  a  volume  published  during  the  war,  entitled 
"  Among  the  Pines,"  appearing  under  the  pen-name  of  Edmund  Kirke. 
This  book  attained  a  remarkable  succces,  and  all  who  have  read  it  will 
recall  its  spirited  and  graphic  delineations  of  life  in  the  South.  "  The 
Rear-Guard  of  the  Revolution,"  from  the  same  hand,  is  a  narrative  of  the 
adventures  of  the  pioneers  that  first  crossed  the  Alleghanies  and  settled 
in  what  is  now  Tennessee,  under  the  leadership  of  two  remarkable  men, 
James  Robertson  and  John  Sevier.  Sevier  is  notably  the  hero  of  the  nar- 
rative. His  career  was  certainly  remarkable,  as  much  so  as  that  of  Daniel 
Boone.  The  title  of  the  book  is  derived  from  the  fact  that  a  body  of  hardy 
volunteers,  under  the  leadership  of  Sevier,  crossed  the  mountains'to  uphold 
the  patriotic  cause,  and  by  their  timely  arrival  secured  the  defeat  of  the 
British  army  at  King's  Mountain. 

"  Mr.  Kirke  has  not  only  performed  a  real  and  lasting  service  to  Ameri- 
can historical  literature  in  the  production  of  this  work,  but  has  honored 
the  memory  and  paid  a  tribute  of  richly-deserved  praise  to  a  band  of  men 
as  brave  and  loyal  and  heroic  as  ever  poured  out  their  lives  and  treasure 
for  their  country's  good." — New  York  Observer. 

"  No  work  of  the  kind  that  equals  it  in  interest  and  importance  has  been 
published  for  many  years.  It  is  a  distinct  contribution  to  the  history  of  the 
American  Revolution,  and  even  to  the  most  industrious  student  of  that 
period  many  of  its  facts  will  come  as  a  revelation." — Philadelphia  Times. 

"  The  book  is  full  of  valuable  information  and  historic  wealth,  while 
the  gracefulness  of  style  and  the  simplicity  of  the  language  make  it  one  of 
the  most  useful  and  entertaining  publications  of  the  year." — Boston  Evening 
Gazette. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  1,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


University  of  California 
SOUTHERN  REGIONAL 


PRINTED  IN   U.S.A. 


CAT.   NO.   24    I6l 


